The Enemy From Within Affair
by MLaw
Summary: Illya Kuryakin  still recovering from his near death in the Solovki gulag finds he must confront more than his personal demons. SEQUEL to "The Gambit Affair"  WARNING: Language, in multiple languages. Holocaust references.       # 14 in the Saga-series AU
1. Chapter 1

_"In everyone's life, at some point our inner fire goes out. It is then burst into flame by an encounter with another human being. We should all be thankful for those who rekindle the inner spirit."_~ Albert Schweitzer

**"The Enemy From Within Affair"**

Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin were killing some time in the gymnasium at headquarters, sparring together as they had always done over the years. Kuryakin had nearly regained all the weight he had lost courtesy of his stay in the Solovki gulag; his muscle strength and agility were back to normal.

Over the years, Illya being the more athletic of the duo would win more often that not, but when he didn't it was because he had been out-manuevered by his partner by the use of some unexpected strategy. There Napoleon had him beat every time, he was the strategist, not Illya.

These workouts were always give and take, but after a while their matches became an exercise in futility; one rarely besting the other. They knew each other so well at this point in their partnership and as friends that these forays usually ended up in a draw. Though both highly competitive with each other; they knew when to call it quits and resign to a stalemate; claiming they were just too tired to continue, or having just laughed too much to go on.

As usual an audience had gathered to watch the top section two agents have at it...ju jitsu, karate, tai chi chuan, kung fu; what ever they had in ther bag of tricks would eventually be pulled out, until it finally just ended up in a wrestling match. Their sweatsuits soaked in perspiration, Illya's hair slicked to his head, but Napoleon some how not having a hair out of place. Today was an exception, as Kuryakin managed to pin his partner to the mat in triumph.

He stepped away, offering Napoleon his hand, helping to pull him to his feet.

"You got me today, but wait until next time." Solo challenged.

"You have me shaking in my shoes." Illya grinned as he draped a towel over his shoulders.

"That's boots, you have me shaking in my boots."

Kuryakin laughed, knowing the colloquialsm well had simply manipulated his partner to say it. "Glad to know you are in fear of my abilites." the Russian laughed.

"What?" then Solo smiled, realizing what Illya had done to him," Hmmm, you're finally getting American slang huh?"

"I would like to think so?"

"About time, it took you long enough?" he quipped. "Well tovarisch, I'm hitting the showers as _I_ have a date with mio Bella tonight and I can't be late."

"Something special happening?"

"Wedding plans,"* he sighed.

"Oooh? Big?

"Very big."

"As in the Ostankino Tower in Moskva big?"

"Maybe even bigger?"

"I am impressed...makes me glad Elliott and I were married in City Hall." the Russian smiled.

"Lucky you?" There was a touch of melancholy to his voice.

"Trouble in paradise?"

"No not at all, it's just a lot to contend with. But you know, it's Bella's call and that's fine with me."

"You mean the call of 'la famiglia' do you not?" Illya smiled.

"Yeah, una grande famiglia_a very big family."

"Sometimes I suppose it is good to not have one to..." Illya caught himself as Napoleon disappeared into the locker room.

"Hey Kuryakin, you good for another match?" a rather large man called to him from the mat. It was Mike Anderson.

Illya was worked up from his session with his partner, but hesitated. He knew he could best the obnoxious agent, and would have liked an excuse to have a go at him, remembering the conversation he had monitored between the man and his partner. Illya restrained himself, taking the high road and ignored the mans derogatory words, as he had done with so many other insults in the past from other people who had taken a dislike to him.

Though he was number two, section two he was not always afforded the respect due his position, and Napoleon often acting as a buffer, watched out for him. Solo always had his back, and not just in the field. Illya often felt that if Napoleon had not been around; then things would have gone quite differently for him here in New York.

Anderson whispered under his breath to another agent,"Look the little pinko is afraid of taking on a _real _American, and not one like his 'dandified' partner."

That did it. Illya had tolerated the man's jabs sent at him for years but now he was besmerching Napoleon as well? Enough was enough.

"You are on Anderson. Full contact?" he smiled.

"Do your best, little man."

Kuryakin stepped onto the mat not waiting to observe any pleasantries. He charged Anderson, jumping up into a scissor hold with his legs around his neck, twisting his body in mid-air and flipping him to the mat. This would not be anything like his sparring match with Napoleon; this was serious business and a different kind of fun for the Russian.

Anderson pulled himself up as Illya jumped to his feet, ready for the man's counter move.

"You fucking little...leave it to a Commie to fight dirty."

"You need to stop calling me that, Anderson."

"Make me Russkie booooy?" He waved his hand, beckoning Illya to come at him.

Kuryakin would not be baited and held off, waiting for the man to make his move. Anderson charged him, feinting with a blow to Illya's head then plowed his fist directly into the Russian's mid-section, sending Illya doubling over. Anderson then went to kick him in the groin. That was when the sparring match turned into a brawl.

Illya blocked the move, then drawing back his fist; he punched Anderson right in the nose. He gave Illya a right to the jaw. Then the two proceeded to trade blows until they ended up on the ground, wrestling and continuing to hit each other.

Someone went into the locker room, realizing things had escalated far beyond just a workout; calling for Napoleon to intercede.

"Jesus Napoleon you gotta get out here, Kuryakin and Anderson are beating the crap out of each other!"

Napoleon had just put on his trousers and undershirt and ran cursing barefoot back into the gymnasium. Anderson was on top of Illya, beating the Russian's bloody face when he was rolled over to his back; Illya on top now, smashing the man; alternating blows with each of his fists.

"Illya knock it off! God dammit stop it you two!" He grabbed his partner by the arms, dragging him off of Anderson, while a pair of section three agents held him down as he cursed at Kuryakin."

"You fucking Commie bastard, you're gonna pay for this!" Anderson wrenched his arms free, grabbing his nose that was obviously quite broken.

Illya's wiped his face with his sleeve, seeing the blood. "Mudak! Idti yebat' sebya der' mon dlya mozgov_Asshole! Go fuck yourself!"

The lumbering American got to his feet, ready to charge Kuryakin again.

"Knock it off Anderson!" Napoleon warned him with a finger pointed in his direction, as he shoved Illya in back of him; his partner staggering just slightly. Anderson was not stupid enough to go up against his CEA.

"That's right Kuryakin, hide behind your partner! He called out to Illya in Norwegian. "Du lile Commie lange i gresset_you little Commie snake in the grass!"

""Yeblya huesos!" Illya cursed at him with a very rude epithet.

"Jesus Illya, watch your language...even if it is Russian?" Napoleon whispered to him as he hurried his partner into the locker room.

Napoleon pushed him to sit down on a bench as he grabbed a towel, running it under cold water to tend to his partner's face, while Illya pulled the bloody sweatshirt gingerly over his head.

"So you gonna tell me what the hell that was all about? I left you less than fifteen minutes ago and you get yourself into a knock-down-drag-out brawl with another section two agent, even though he's a jerk."

"You just said it yourself, he is a jerk," Illya winced as Napoleon wiped his face with the damp cloth. "Ow! Stoi, I will do it myself please?" He held out his hand waiting for the towel to be passed to him.

"Stop being a baby...there, you're done any way." Napoleon took Illya by the chin, carefully raising it to the light to survey the damage.

"You're going to have a nice shiner, and a really fat lip."

"Thank you Dr. Solo."

"Now you going to tell me what started all this?"

Illya snorted..."where should I start?"

"The beginning is usually the best place?"

"You still think George Dennell was the one who rescued you from Serena?"

"I was a little suspicious but yes...so enlighten me, please?" Napoleon. his curiosity piqued as to how this related to the fight, sat down on the bench next to his partner.

"It was me, not George. I had him help as Waverly had banned me from joining in the search for you because I was still on medical leave. Anderson and his partner Denman were assigned to investigate your disappearance and I had Dennell plant bugs on them to monitor their progress. I listened in as Mike Anderson made some disparaging remarks against me...though I knew that he has always disliked me; I was unaware of how much he hated me until then."

"So? You've tolerated a lot of slurs from people over the years. Why now, why him?

"He insulted you."

Napoleon tried to hide his smile. "So you were defending my honor?"

"In a manner of speaking."

"Why thank you, but I can take care of myself."

"Napoleon, for years you have protected me in one way or another. You have deflected a good many malicious words from reaching my ears; though in spite of your efforts, I have still heard them. But for once, some one was insulting you...my friend, my best friend. I have not been as good a friend to you as you have been to me all these years and I need to rectify that."

"O.K. this is starting to go deeper that just a fight with that moron Anderson. What's this all about?"

Illya stood up, walking to his locker; removing a bottle of rubbing alchohol and spashing some onto the towel. Then he began rubbing his right forearm with it until a blue-inked tattoo became visible.

"I had not planned to have this conversation quite yet." he sighed."You have asked me about this in the past, but I always evaded answering you and hoped you had forgotten seeing it. I have never shared the secrets of my past my with you. It is time that I did so."

Napoleon took Illya's wrist in his hand, pulling his partner's arm closer to examine the tattoo that had seen only once, when he had rescued Illya in Greece.**

* ref." The Cabin in the Woods Affair." ** ref. "The Archangel Affair"


	2. Chapter 2

"Illya, this is not exactly the place for the revealing of secrets, how about you get yourself cleaned up and we go to my place before the locust begin to descend about your fight?"

"No you have to meet Bella, it is alright, we can talk another time."

"Right now, I think listening to you is more important...I can discuss flower arrangements with her another night." he winked. "Meet me in the parking garage in an half hour, and that's an order."

Illya nodded his agreement, then stripped his clothes, getting into a cold shower, with a sigh of satisfaction as it cooled his burning muscles.

He opened his eyes as he finished rinsing the blood away and that was when he saw the shadow on the the other side of the curtain, thinking it was Anderson. But instead of taking a defensive posture, Illya suddenly found himself backing up against the shower wall, panting heavily as his heart rate jumped. Then he forced himself to regain his composure readying himself; his adreneline still running high.

Then as the shadow disappeared, he calmed. He thought he was over his fear, but for a split second it had returned...but only for a second too long. He told himself to put the fear aside; taking a deep calming breath.

They met in the garage, riding in silence in Solo's car to his penthouse apartment. Illya stopped for a moment eyeing the photograph mounted on the wall of he and Napoleon surrounded by a cloud of red smoke; the image caught by security as they responded weapons drawn to an alert in headquaters. He tried to remember how long ago that was as he'd fogotten about the picture but seeing it again made him smile.

It had been a long time between visits to Napoleon's place since he had moved from the apartment building they had once both occupied; his partner lived conveniently one floor above him and they would often see each other after a day at headquarters as well as ride there together in Napoleon's convertible. But then he met Elliott, then had a family, and his partner didn't see that much of him except through work.

Napoleon's Aunt Amy passed away, leaving him the penthouse and a sizeable inheritance. Though he could have retired and sailed around the world if he wanted; t the lure of the field was stronger. Illya knew his partner could never give it up willingly.

That seemed like a lifetime ago. Illya now owed his own home, living with his Elliott and Demya in a two-story brownstone in Washington Square. And soon Napoleon would be married to Bella, both deciding to remain in the penthouse.

The two agents took the elevator upstairs still not saying a word; Napoleon unlocking the door after entering the alarm code.

"Make yourself at home," he said, pulling off his tie and jacket. "you know where the bar is. Pour me a scotch if you don't mind. I have to make a phone call.

Solo walked into his bedroom, picking up the telephone, dialing Bella's number.

"ICU, Nurse Graziani speaking."

"Hi beautiful."

"Napoleon, I would have thought you'd be on your way here by now?"

"Look, about tonight...I'm going to have to cancel. Something important has come up."

"Napoleon, with you it's always important, " she laughed," so I'll just pick the flowers without you but don't complain to me if you don't like what I get?"

"Bella, I've already told you, what ever you want is fine with me. I trust your taste and judgement implicitly."

There was silence for a moment at the other end. " I know you do, but it would just be nice for you to take some interest in your own wedding? You leave all the decisions up to me and that's not really right. This is supposed to be a joint operation Mr. Solo?"

"Bella la mia colomba_my dove. I do care, but you're much better at these things than I am. Now if you asked me how to disassemble a weapon, or construct a bomb...I'm your man? Well actually, Illya is better at the bomb thing than I am." he teased her, "Si ottiene quello che sto dicendo, il mio tesoro_ do you get what I'm saying, my darling?"

"Don't worry, I got ya'." she laughed. " I'll do the girl thing, while you stick to the guy thing. By the way, tell Illya I said hello. Ciao amore mio."

The phone clicked, then went to a dial tone as she hung up, leaving Napoleon wondering for a second how she knew he was with Illya. Then he shugged as he changed into a smoking jacket; returning to the livingroom.

Illya was pressing a glass vodka on the rocks to his eye, holding up the scotch to pass off to his partner.

"You never drink vodka with ice, what gives?"

"I am killing two birds with one stone...saves time no icepack needed."

Napoleon sat down on the couch next to him, trying not to look too serious, but knowing Illya, what was about to come was defintely going be significant. " O.K. what is it you want to tell me," he finally asked.

Illya swallowed a mouthful of vodka, then put the glass down on the coffee table.

"Firstly I need to tell you how grateful I am for all your years of friendship, you have always had my back, no matter what. You are a very big reason that I am on the road to recovery.

"Illya I..."

"Please Napoleon, do not interrupt me? Though I said I would reveal my past to you, that still does not make it easy for me?"

Napoleon leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, holding the glass of scotch in his two hands. "I'm listening."

"Where to begin? I suppose it might help if you told me what you know about me," Illya asked, " that way I can fill in the gaps."

"Illya, wait a minute, before you start. Please tell me why you feel the need to do this...is there anything wrong with you? You're not dying are you?"

Illya laughed, then apologized. "No I am fine, well almost fine but nothing life threatening. You see, after nearly losing my life in the gulag and having to deal with having been...raped, I needed to confront many things in order to find myself again. Napoleon, I was lost and thought my life, my family, my career were all at an end. But thanks to you, Elliott, Demya and Dr. Mansur I was able to find myself again. I rememered who Illya Kuryakin was, where he came from...how I got to be me."

"You actually saw a psychiatrist?"

"Yes believe it or not I did."

"And you didn't try to kill the man?"

Illya lowered his head, smiling. "No, I did not. He was very helpful and guided me, allowing me to find my own anwers. You all told me the truth; I just wasn't ready to listen. I was too busy being ashamed and afraid. But we digress, please tell me what you know about me?"

Napoleon put his drink down on the table as well. " You were born in Kiev, orphaned during the war, raised by the state, recruited by military intelligence. You served in the Russian navy. Went to school at the University of Georgia, the Sorbonne and Cambridge...you have several degrees and are linguist...how's that?"

"You just stated what is in my dossier, anyone can know that information, but what do you really know about me...Illya Nickovich?"

Napoleon was momentarily at a loss for words as he realized there was really nothing he knew about his parter even after all these years.

"You welcomed me into your life from the moment I arrived in New York and was assigned as your partner. You never hesitated telling me about your childhood, military service, your family. You have included me in so many of your holidays and gatherings like a long lost brother. You have shared your dreams and disappointments...I on the other hand have done none of this."

"Hey, I was your best man at your wedding? You've let me be part of you life with your family...I'm Uncle Napoleon remember?"

"That is true, but I never shared any other part of my life with you, before I met Elliott that is."

"True, but Illya all I've needed to know was that you are loyal to a fault, you're my best friend...and will always have my back. I trust you with my life. What else is there to know?"

Illya smiled. That was a simple summary of his relationship with his friend and a kind one.

"I know you have always been curious about my life back in Russia, though you stopped asking after I continually avoided answering your questions all these years."

"True. I resigned myself to it just being your way."

"Would you still like to know about me?"

Napoleon paused for a moment, being very much aware how private Illya was; he wasn't sure if he should say yes, but then again his partner was offering.

"Yes I would," he decided.

Illya took a deep breath. " I lived in a small dacha on the outskirts of Kyiv, one of the four grandsons of Count Alexander Kuryakin."

Illya paused for a second as Napoleon's eyes widened in surprise.

"So that means you're a Count?

"Technically, but the title no longer has meaning. The last true Count Kuryakin died in the Solovki gulag, as I almost did."

"I am...was, the second son of Nickolaí and Tanya Kuryakin. I had an older brother named Dimitry, twin brothers younger than me...Sasha and Misha and a baby sister named Katiya. My maternal grandmother Marina Kuryakina, the wife of Count Kuryakin lived with us."

" She was Rom gypsy, so that answers your question as to way I am so familiar with gypsy ways. I think you may recall I mentioned an Uncle Vanya once?"

"Yes, but I thought you were making him up?"

"Vanya...Ivan Ursari was my grandmother's brother and the leader of my Romany tribe. It was terrible times in the Ukraine during the war, the gypsies along with the Jews were targeted by the Nazis, but no one was safe from them. I watched as my mother and the twins were murdered on the street in front of me not long after my eighth birthday. After that I went to fight with the partisans and the Rom alongside my father and Dimitry and Uncle Vanya, and my cousin Anastasiya. They were all killed in an ambush by a German patrol after having been betrayed by someone in our camp in Bykivnia forest."

"Except for a few members of the tribe, I was the only one to survive and made my way home to the dacha. Food was scarce and we were starving to death, the Nazis were rounding up everyone, killing people in the forests, and at a Babi Yar. My grandmother hid my sister and myself in the attic then left us in search of food...she never returned."

"I was forced to leave Katiya alone, we needed food desperately and when I returned the Nazis had thrown a grenade into the dacha, setting it on fire. She..." Illya stopped for a moment, composing himself, "Katiya was burned alive. She was only three."

Illya suddenly looked very frail to Napoleon, "You don't have to do this?" he said, placing a hand on his partner's shoulder.

"Yes I do, please let me continue?"

"I made my way into the city, living like an animal, scavenging food and supplies where ever I could them in the ruins on the outskirts of Kyiv. I was hunted by packs of wild dogs and barely escaped with my life several times."

"So that's why you're afraid of dogs?"

"Pretty much so...but they used dogs on us in our GRU training, so that did not help my phobia."

"I managed to survive the Russian winter living on rats, dog meat and vodka, though it was Russian masquerading as a German cook who me food that really helped me to survive."

"Because of his kindness and risk to his own safety, I helped other street orphans to make it as well. I had a friend...I suppose my first girlfriend at the tender age of ten. Her name was Irina, she was a few years older than me when we were captured by the Nazis as they did their sweeps through the city, taking any orphans captive to be slave labor at the Syrets concentration camp next to the Babi Yar ravine."

"I've heard of it, it was a death camp wasn't it? "Napoleon said quietly,

"that's were you were tattooed?"

Illya nodded quietly as he looked down at his arm, running his fingers across the blue-inked numbers.

"It was a labor camp at first, then a death camp...they, the Germans killed thousands and buried them in the ravine. We worked for twelve to fifteen hours a day sorting the belongings of the people who were brought in by the trainload to die in the extermination vans. Sometimes they just lined them up naked at the edge of the ravine and gunned them down. Their bodies piled up and they were buried there even if they were not dead. The children in the camp began to slowy die of starvation and exhaustion while every day we witnessed torture and murder in the camp as the Nazis became frenzied in their killing."

Illya was shaking now, concentrating to remain calm as he recounted the terrible tale of his childhood to his friend.

"There was an older boy named Vasily who worked for them, bringing the children to the soldiers for their amusement. Karl Voelker was the assistant to the camp doctor. He...he impregnated my friend Irina then had her sent to the death vans. Vasily brought me to Voelker one night, it was right around my tenth birthday when he attempted to molest me, but that night there was a revolt in the camp."

"Not the same Voelker who...?"

"Yes, you can say it, the Voelker who raped me in East Germany."

Napoleon didn't know what to say. It was bad enough what had happened to Illya, but to have it to happen at the hands of one of the monsters from his childhood was unfathomable. He hadn't told Illya that he had used his favor with Angeliqe; having her be the instument of revenge for Illya against Voelker. She had sent word to him when the deed had been done.

"I was able to escape from the camp and survived for another month but then nearly died back on the streets of the city, having given up. I wandered out from my hiding place...I will never forget it. I wanted to see the sun again before I died. The Red army having liberated the city found me nearly dead from starvation."

"I recovered in a refugee camp, then was sent to the horrors of a disease ridden, corrupt state run school. There I had to defend myself again from being raped. I learned to be a thief, smoked drank gambled, slept with girls...I was becoming a model Soviet citzen, " Illya laughed softly.

"The orphanage was closed and I was selected to go to a school for the intellectually gifted. It was there that Viktor Karkoff found me; taking me on as his protegée and through his sponsorship I went to the University of Ukraine. I did my mandatory military service aboard the submarine Moskva, there too I had to fight to keep from being raped. After my military service I was trained as an agent for GRU; quite brutal standards compared to Survival School. If you failed, then you were went to your end in the blast furnaces in Sepka, just south of Moskva to be burned alive."

"Katiya Revechenkov told me that, "Napoleon cringed, " I thought she was making up to be dramatic?"

Illya shook his head. "I am afraid she was not lying."

"My first major assignment as an agent was being west to the Sorbonne, while earning my masters degree, I spied on other Soviet students and professors; as you already know Katiya was my handler. You also know she and I had an affair but what you did not know that I was actually very much in love with her, but she set me up and to make a long story short, it nearly caused an international incident with the West German Ambassador."

"Karkoff lost face with the Directorate because of it and swore his revenge against me, which he nearly had in Solovki. It was not until we met Katiya in Paris* that I found out she had set me up, because she was in love with me and thought she could have me forced into a desk job...but but her strategy did not work and I was sent to further my education at Cambridge, continuing to spy on students and teachers as I had in Paris. After I recieved my doctorate I was recalled to Moskva, to what I thought would be a disciplinary hearing, but to my surprise; I was being offered up to Alexander Waverly and U.N.C.L.E."

"I was told once I had accepted the position that I would no longer be permitted to go home again to Russia, unless I was recalled for military service in the event of war. I was a man without a country, without a home. The rest I think you know."

Napoleon sat with his mouth hanging open, "Jesus Illya, I'm so sorry, I had no idea?"

"Nyet! I did not tell you for you to feel sorry for me, please do not do that?This is a fear that I must be rid of. All my life I have been told where to go and what to do and I have lived my life in fear of being found out, of being pitied...until I came here and met you. You showed me nothing but friendship and kindness and I put up a wall around myself in response. That was not right."

Napoleon held out his hand to lllya then when the Russian accepted it, he pulled his partner to him in a hug. " Thank you for sharing this with me tovarisch, clearly it wasn't easy. What you told me explains a lot about you and I'm sure you gave me a very abridged version of you life story but If you ever feel like talking again, you know my door is open to you any time, I mean that Illya."

"Thank you Napoleon" Kuryakin smiled. He lifted his glass raising it for a toast. " Za na nashyei druzhbe_for our friendship."

"To best friends." Napoleon said as they tipped their glasses together.

They changed the topic to less serious subjects and after copious amounts vodka, then scotch the Russian finally passed out on the sofa.

Napoleon wasn't too steady on his feet either and didn't have the heart to wake him, and just stood staring at Illya, wondering how he managed to suvive those terrible things and still tuned out to be decent man. He called Elliott, giving her a heads up that Illya was going to be spending the night.

"What happened?" she asked.

"Let's just say it's been a long time since we got drunk together and had a real heart to heart talk."

"A heart to heart did ye say? About what? If ye don't mind me asking?"

"He told me about his childhood, his past."

"The camp?"

"Yes he did, he felt the need to unburden himself of alot of baggage. I think it was all part of the healing process for him."

"I'm glad to hear that. He always felt guilty about not sharing things with ye. It's good that he did. Now ye are more like a brother to him than ever before. Good night Napoleon...behave, no more of the booze for ye now?"

"Thanks Ellie, good night."

ref.* "The Thirty Seven Bridges Affair"


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning a very slightly hungover Illya Kuryakin took a taxi home. Elliott had already left for heaquarters, Demya was off with Auntie Olga for their morning visit to the park across the street.

He walked into the bathroom, examining his black eye and split lip in the mirror, wondering why he had become so frenzied with Anderson; it was more than just coming to Napoleon's defense. He had allowed himself to lose control and that was not good. There was a rage inside him that he had not realized was there and knew he needed understand where it was coming from. Illya thought perhaps his sessions with Dr. Mansur were not over after all.

He would have to think this through before approaching the psychiatrist again. He was surprised at the comfort level he had with the man, given his propensity for mixing with people of his calling like oil with vinegar. But he was not_ that_ comfortable with Mansur that he would discuss anything with him that had not been thought out before hand.

He showered then dressed to go to headquarters, hoping to hide himself in his lab to avoid prying eyes and questions about his dispute with Anderson the day before. Then he had second thoughts on that as the new lab tech Terry Tramell, was making him feel a bit uncomfortable as of late; he couldn't quite put his finger on it but had a feeling the young man actally had a bit of a crush on him. That was not a situation, nor a discussion he felt like being involved in at the moment. It was bad enough some of the women at headquarters still acted as though he were still single and having to remind them he was happily married, but to have to have a discussion with a male co-worker on the same topic would be a new one. He was not ready for that yet.

He greeting Heather at the reception desk reminding himself to be polite, given he was not in the best of moods.

"Wow, Illya so the story about you and Mike Anderson's true huh? Well if you ask me, he probably deserved what you gave him. He's always spouting nasty things about people."

"Please Heather, I do not wish to discuss it if you do not mind?"

"Sorry, look you need to go to Mr. Waverly's office right now. He said he wanted you there immediately." she said as she handed him his badge. For some reason her message did not bode well with him.

Illya walked into the old man's office without a word standing with his arms crossed in front of his chest, waiting quietly for his presence to be acknowledged.

Waverly looked up at him with a scowl, eyeing his black eye and swollen lip; then he shook his head.

"Mr. Kuryakin" Waverly enunciated each syllable as he spoke. "I see by your physical condition that the news of the brawl between you and Mr. Anderson in the gymnasium yesterday is indeed quite true. I must _inform_ you that I will not have any such nonsense occuring between my field operatives. I understand there is always a rivalry amonst you...testosterone driven agents, but I will not stand for this!" Waverly's ire grew as he continued to speak, "It's bad enough that you are nearly killed by our enemies in the field, but I will not have you trying to kill each other! Mr. Anderson is in medical at present with a broken nose and a fractured collar bone."

Waverly slammed his hand on the desk, surprising Kuryakin at the level of his anger. "This will not happen again, do you hear me young man?"

"But sir, it was not because of rivalry, it ..."

"I don't give a tinker's damn what the bloody reason was. I will not have it. You are suspended without pay until further notice and the two of you should count yourselves lucky that I don't have the both of you locked up in security. Now dismissed."

Waverly rose from his chair, turning his back to Kuryakin; now giving his attention to a file laying near the console.

Illya gritted his teeth fighting back his anger as he spun on his heels, leaving the conference room without a word. He went to his wife's office, then not finding her; he stormed out of the building.

"Mrs. Kuryakin said to tell you she went home and is waiting for you," Heather called to him as he disappeared quickly through the dressing room door.

The sight of people scurrying along the sidewalk, the noise of traffic and the scents of food being cooked as he passed various restaurants assaulted Illya as he wandered for blocks, trying to cool his temper without success. He stopped at a bodega, buying himself a pack of cigarettes, not his usual Turkish blend, but he didn't care at the moment as he sat down on a bench, lighting one up and taking a long drag on it. He finished that cigarette then had another finally a third that he threw away in disgust before he stood, hailing a cab.

Illya arrived home, pounding the alarm code on the keypad in the vestibule, then slamming the door behind him; announcing his presence to his wife.

"Elliott?" he called out.

She was sitting in the living room waiting for him, her arms crossed defensively, and obviously angry herself.

"In here." she answered tersely.

He poked his head around the corner seeing her mood. "Please do not start with me?"

"Jay-sus Illya what the feck got into ye?" She stood up, eyeing his face.

"Then I guess you heard? So I suppose everyone at headquarters knows as well?"

"Ugh, yeah ta say the least? Why in God's name would ye have at it with that oaf Anderson. Alright so give me the details then, what happened?"

"Napoleon and I had just finished a workout and Anderson challenged me to a match. Remarks were made. He pushed too far and he insulted Napoleon. It is bad enough he does it to me, but he will not do it to my partner. I took him on and things got out of hand."

"Have ye lost yer mind, ye got into a fight because he insulted Napoleon? He's a big boy, don't ye think he can take care of himself?"

"Not you too? Please, I defend my best friend and you look at me as though I am crazy."

"Well ye need ta just let it go, steer clear of Anderson once he get's out of medical."

"I have no choice steering clear of him as I have been suspended without pay by Waverly!" he barked at her. "He threatened to lock me up...kak yesli by ya byl bogon proklyatoy uglovnogo_as if I were a goddamned criminal!"

"What, yer joking? He did _that_ to ye for a fight ?

"Yes. He was quite angry with me and I have never seen him that way before." Illya flopped down onto the couch, then forgetting himself he rested his head in his hands. "Ow." then he clicked his tongue, as his face still hurt.

Elliott disappeared for a moment, returning with a cold steak from the the refrigerator, shoving it into his hand. Here's yer supper," she growled "so did you really have a heart to heart with Napoleon last night, or were ye just hiding from me?"

"Why would I hide from you...is this really my dinner?"

Elliott just shook her head, "How long are ye suspended for?"

"Indefinitely."

"It's yer dinner now!" she said angrily," Aw, Jay-sus, this is going to be a problem Illya...we have a lot of bills coming due!"

"How are we in our savings?"

"Not enough!" she stormed out of the room.

Illya called after Elliott, hoping to placate her for the moment, until he had time to think. "Perhaps Napoleon can loan us the money?"

The doorbell rang, sending Elliott back up the hall to check the security monitor.

"Speak of the divil," she said as she let Solo in.

"Hi Ellie, is he here?"

"Ya, and he told me that Waverly suspended him indefinitely for fighting...without pay! A little _extreme _don't ye think? I know what he did was stupid, getting into a fist fight because Anderson said you were foppish but..."

"Ellie calm down."

"Why should I ? We've got bills ta pay and now he's not gettin' paid fer who knows how long? God almighty, after what he went through in Russia and this is what Waverly does to him?"

"Take it easy, I bring good news and some bad news." Napoleon defelected the subject just slightly," By the way, I never asked Illya what Anderson said, did he tell you?"

"To be exact," Illya said walking out to the hall, "he insinuated that you were not a real American and called you dandified."

"Really?" Napoleon's face flushed red. "That slob dressed in cheap off the rack clothes, impuned my patriotism...right. Maybe I'd be happy you did beat the crap out of him tovarisch if it hadn't gotten you suspended."

"Does everyone know about this too?" Illya moaned.

"No not really, as a matter of fact. The punishment did not fit the crime so to speak and I convinced the old man otherwise," he said, looking at the raw steak his partner had pressed to his eye.

"I am no longer suspended?" Illya asked anxiously."tell me that is that the good news?"

"Well not quite, you're suspended for three days, though with pay."

"Thank you Napoleon. As usual you have come to my rescue, in more ways than you know."

Napoleon hesitated, scrunching up his face.

"I hear a _but_ coming," Illya said, raising an eyebrow.

"You're suspended from the field, but you have duty to perform."

"Do not tell me, filing in records?"

Napoleon laughed, "Almost, but I got the old man to change his mind on that too. You're to supervise two agents from section three that are being considered for promotion to section two."

"And what does this mean, supervise?"

"Put them through their paces, make sure they're where they should be in order to warrant the promotion. You know how some of them can be a little rusty when not in the field?"

"Oh joy?"

"What, you want to go back to Waverly's original deal? That could be arranged."

"Nyet nyet! So what is the bad news then?"

"The bad news doesn't actually relate to you. Mike Anderson, once he is released from medical...which should be any moment now," he said looking at his wristwatch, " is being dismissed from U.N.C.L.E. for conduct unbecoming. Apparently quite a few witnesses came forward on your behalf, stating that he has been the continuously targeting you with ethnic slurs and degrading comments. Actually, I'm surprised he lasted this long; I remember the first time I heard that garbage come out of his mouth years ago.* So does this news improve your lousy day?"

"Napoleon, I never meant for the man to be fired, remarks or no."

"Don't worry about it, the incident with you was the last straw. He's been shooting his mouth off about other foreign born agents besides you. Wavely decided that Mr. Anderson was no longer a good representative for the organization."

"Illya shook his head, "He was still a trained agent, albeit one who has a few issues, but do we all not have our issues?"

"I don't believe this, he tries to beat the hell out of you and you're defending him? He had a consistent behaviour of abuse and bigotry. He was xenophobic; that to me is not what an U.N.C.L.E. agent supposed to be?"

Elliott grabbed the steak from Illya's hand. "Come on you two, let's celebrate then. How about having an early dinner with us Napoleon?"

"Sounds like a plan, what's for dinner?" he smiled.

Elliott looked at the steak in her hand, "Chicken. Illya please go retrieve our little tornado from Auntie Olga?"

A few minutes later Illya appeared at the door with his son running between his legs in a great rush to get inside.

"Hi Uncle Napoleon!" he smiled, " want to play a game with me?

"What game would that be nephew of mine?"

"Chess. Papa taught me."

Napoleon looked at his partner. "Really?" he mouthed to him.

Illya smiled as he nodded. "Yes Demyachka, why do you not show Uncle Napoleon how good you are at chess. I warn you though, your Uncle Napoleon is quite clever, so you may not win?"

"Yes I will papa."

"I see you're finally rubbing off on your son... a little cocky isn't he?"

"Confident, not cocky." the Russian admonished, "you will see."

Demya set up the chess board in the coffee table in the living room as Illya fetched a scotch for Napoleon, a vodka for himself and a small glass of orange juice for his son.

The boy opened with a classic Giuoco Piano, with white's early attack at the black King's weakest point, preparing the way for a P-Q4 assault on the center. Solo was amazed at the child's ability and was surprised that he lost to him rather quickly. Not to be outdone by a three year old; he offered best two out of three. Napoleon lost again.

"I am clearly impressed Demmy; you're a better chess player than your father."

"Strategy was never my strong point,"Illya smiled, "but apparently it is for my son," he said proudly.

"So Demya, what do you want to do when you grow up?" Napoleon laughed, " if you want to become a chess master, I'll be your manager?"

His joke was somehow lost on the boy, who answered typical Kuryakin style. "Why would I want to have a manager?"

Illya grinned grinned at his partner. "Yes, _my_ son."

"Alright ye three supper is ready," Elliott called. " Demmy, seomra folctha, téigh go nigh le do thoil_bathroom, go wash please?" she told him in Irish.

Elliott walked out to the livingroom, wiping her hands with a dish towel, looking over the two partners; then ordered them to wash up as well.

"Don't set a bad example for the buachaill_boy," she called Demya in Irish.

"Yes ma'am." Napoleon saluted as he picked up Demya, carrying him to the downstairs washroom.


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning Kuryakin reported to headquarters, walking through the sterile grey corridors trying to remain immune to the glances and icy over the shoulder stares that he caught out of the corner of his eye.

The turning of heads and whispers behind his back had returned, as the dismissal of Anderson gave new life to the old comments that Kuryakin received special treatment as he was Waverly's pet Russian. Though he could live with it as he had done so in the past; it sometimes got old and he wished it would all just go away. He did not like being the hot topic of discussion at the water cooler.

Illya was relieved to get out of the building with his two charges in tow; leading them from the section three office down to the motorpool where a sedan had been reseverd for him. The senior agent's plan was to take them out into the city for a simple surveillance operation just to get to get a good look at their abilities.

This was the type of assignment that grated on Illya's nerves as he did not care for dealing with inexperienced agents. On a few past occasions they had nearly gotten him killed, but this was not a mission in the true sense, so for once the risk factor was eliminated.

It still however, was a disciplinary action against him, though albeit a minor one, when compared to the alternative punishment that Waverly first had in mind.

At this point Illya felt his punishment was deserved, as his actions against Anderson were sheer stupidity on his part for having allowed the man to succeed in baiting him. Illya knew that his lack of control needed to be addressed. But right now he needed to pay attention to the situation at hand and that was seeing to the surpisingly green junior agents that now tagged along behind him.

"And these two are section two material?" he wondered to himself as he studied them.

The objective he had selected for the operation was an appliance store located downtown just off Canal Street; a suspected Thrush contact point where their agents would receive minor assignments. Not a high profile target where he and the section threes could expect any problems to occur.

Illya parked the car a block away from their objective, then they walked the rest of the way along the heavily traversed side walk on Canal. The sounds of Italian being spoken surrounded them, intermingled with various dialects of Chinese bartering, and conversing. It all drifted in and our of ear-shot as the trio entered the ethnic areas known as Little Italy and Chinatown which in harmony essentially on top of each other in that part of the city.

The blond blue-eyed Russian would normally have been conspicuous among the sea of dark-haired pedestrians but as always Illya mangaged to make himself go unnoticed. The agents with him, both dark-haired should have blended well with the local Italian population, but for some reason seemed too visible to him.

Illya whispered quietly as they headed towards their location. "Could you two please make yourselves less obvious?"

"How do we do that?" The one called Paul asked under his breath.

"Walk as though you belong here, like it is your home. Try to look more comfortable?"

"Oh so look like we know where we're going?" asked the other.

"That would help."

Illya stopped, picking up a newspaper and buying a chocolate gelato for himself as he surveyed the people around them. Then he continued to move along casually, trying to show the others how it was done.

The trio paused in front of the window to a store front Chinese take out; along the top of the window was a rack containing a row of fully cooked ducks, and squirming in large aquarium below them was at least a dozen live frogs.

"Hey look," Charlie pointed as a man pulled one of the frogs from the tank, smiling as he held it up to show them; then suddenly, without warning slammed the frog on the end of the counter, killing it as part of the process to be cooked.

Kuryakin suppressed a laugh as the two junior agents were completely startled at the unexpected sight.

They finally reached the end of the block with their destination in sight.

Kuryakin had previously gone over the the layout of the area and presented to the two rookies the question of where would be the best vantage point to stake out the location.

Paul Spavento, the younger of the two men suggested the roof of the building across the street. The other agent named Charlie Mannion argued for the first floor apartment in the same building as the one Spavento suggested.

"Defend your choices gentlemen." Illya said with just a bit of amusement in his voice.

"Well the roof top gives the best vantage point of the entire block as well as the location." said Paul.

"And you Charlie?" Illya prompted.

"Well an apartment vantage point closer to the street level does limit view of the block, but the target is fully visible and in the event of an incident it offers a more acessible escape route, as the next building is not close enough to jump to. So the roof top does not lend itself to an easy exit and since it's a three story walkup, it would have only one way...safe way down and take longer to get to the street leve. Where as the apartment has two exit options, the door and the windows close to ground level."

"Very good Charlie, that is my assesment as well. Paul you must always look at such a situation from a proactive as well as a reactive point of view."

The younger agent acknowledged with a nod of his head, but seemed uncomfortable at he correction.

The three men walked into the apartment building, attemptiong to make arrangements with the landlady to look at a vacant apartment in the front of the building as prospective tenants. Illya telling her his nephew Charles was interested as he was getting married.

The woman introduced herself as Mrs. Jankowski and Illya detecting an accent, moved flawlessly into speaking to her in Polish.

"I am so sorry, I do not have time to show it right now," she said, "but perhaps you could give me a telephone number at which I could reach you?" she smiled with a twinkle in her eye.

Illya flirted back mischieviously still speaking Polish.

"Ah but your husband might be upset?" he teased.

The woman blushed, "Oh I am a widow." she smiled as she fussed with her hair for a moment.

Illya pinched her chin, "And you such a lovely young thing, all on your own? Is there no way we could just see it on ourselves? I could leave the keys under the doormat and that telephone number?"

She held out the key to him and Illya snatched it instantly.

"Thank you." he smiled, "pehaps I could instead return it in person to you this evening?"

"Oh that would be lovely, I won't be back until seven. But you would give a lady time to freshen up though wouldn't you?

She disappeared down the hall to the building entrance, calling back with a shy laugh, reminding him to do as he promised.

The Russian opened up the apartment door, ushering the men inside. It was small, simple and reminded Illya of his old place.

He did a walk through, locating the bathroom, then stood in the middle of the livingroom, speaking softly.

"In an empty location such as this, you must be sure to keep your voices down...no accutrements to absorb the sound, so your voices will carry. Now, choose the best vantage points."

"No brainer, "said Paul, "front window living room." Charlie agreed.

"Why?"

"We have full view of the target."

Illya shook his head at them in disagreement.

"There is an adjoining alley to this building; the bedroom offers front and side view. In this case one of you would be in the living room, the other positoned in the bedroom. The living room offers the best vantage of the front entrance, the bedroom the alley."

Illya pulled a newspaper from beneath his suit jacket, holding it up to them.

"Another necessity, besides binoculars when on stakeout as these assignments can sometimes be tedious. Something else important on a surveillance operation and an absolute necessity."

"What's that sir?" Charlie asked.

"Food. Did either of you take note where to find it close by?"

"No sir I didn't."

"Neither did I" Spavento admitted as well.

"Gentlemen, you are trained agents, or at least I thought so? It is part of our jobs to be observant. There is no less than four regular eateries located nearby. Two Chinese take-out, one pizzeria and one delicatessan, plus there is a hot-dog vendor standing at the corner. Do you recall seeing any of these?"

"I remember the hot dog stand," smiled Paul.

"That was too easy," jabbed Charlie.

Illya sighed, thinking it was going to be a long three days.

"Alright, recount to me how it is we got here and what was done to facilitate it?"

"You were nice to the landlady and she gave you the keys?"

"Oh Charlie please?" Illya shook his head.

"Let me elucidate. Firstly I created a minimal cover story. A nephew looking for an apartment for he and his bride to be, a legitimate reason and one that immediately sets up an air of sentimentality to an middle-aged married woman's part."

"Did either of you notice that she wore a wedding band?"

The pair shook their heads, again embarrassed as their lack of attention to details.

"Cover story, keep it simple. Giving too much information to an asset can trip you up, as you will have too much to remember. Now when it comes to women, a little harmless flirtation...a smile, a look can go a long way but without making any firm committments." Though I did indiate coming back in the evening, but that was to find out, how long we would have use of the apartment. Illya's thoughts about Napoleon's approach being to the contrary made him smile for a moment. "Pay attention to details, to an asset's reaction; the voice inflection, speech patterns, body language."

"Yeah, how did you know she spoke...what was that Russian?"

"No it was Polish and I did not know, but I heard the slightest hint of an accent and her last name, though probably her married name was Polish. I took a chance; speaking to someone in their native language, especially when they are far from their home, tugs at their heart-strings and makes an instant connection, opening the door to trust."

"That is why she surrendered the keys to me so easily and commenting about a husband told me what I needed to know to continue the firtation, and raise her hopes of getting my telephone number. The look in her eye and her body language told me that she was attracted to me the moment I began speaking Polish to her."

"Now get yourselves in positon and maintain a careful watch."

"Yes sir," Spavento droned, " We know, note comings and goings, times and photograph people of interest."

Illya was at least satisfied with that answer, though the tone of voice in it's delivery left something to be desired He excused himself, going to the bathroom then overheard the agents while he washed his hands, thinking to himself that they still speaking too loudly.

"That guy is such a pompous know-it-all don't you think?" said Spavento, " no wonder people can't stand him and he has all the personality of an an ice berg, it's no wonder they call him the Ice Prince."

Illya was accustomed to insults, generally ignoring them outwardly and not giving anyone the satisfaction of a reaction. Except for his recent faux pas with Mike Anderson. Some of those vilifcations stabbed at him like a sharp syringe, this one coming from Spavento disappointed him that his demeanor was being misconstrued as pomposity.

He was simply telling them what they needed to know and doing it in a direct and effiecient way. He was being helpful, trying to guide them in their decisons; making corrections where needed. He was helping them to save their own lives some day?

"And for this he received an insult?" he shook his head in disgust; reminding himself that he was not there to be liked; he was there to do his job...even though this job was his punishment from Waverly.

Illya stepped out from the bathroom, giving the two men an icy look. "I am going down the street to purchase our lunch. You are to remain here and stay out of trouble, " he ordered coldly as he walked out the door.

They watched as the Russian headed across the street and two doors down to the deli.

"Do you think he heard you?" asked Charlie, "He looked a little pissed at us?"

"Who cares, let's just get through this, then we're done with him."

"Are you really that stupid Paul? That is Illya Kuryakin you're talking about? He's the heir apparent to the CEA position once Solo moves on. He could be our boss some day...hell we could still be partnered with him for an assignment."

"I think the man deserves some respect; he didn't get to where he is by being pompous. He's smart, damn smart. I for one am going to pay close attention to every word he says. You don't realize what an opportunity we're being given, I mean we're getting sage advise from the number two agent in section two? Napoleon Solo wouldn't have him for a partner if he wasn't the best."

"Now there's a paring I just don't get?" Spavento said, "Solo's suave, sophisticated, then there's Kuryakin, dry and always dressing in those black suits. I still can't understand what that hottie Mc Gowan saw enough to marry him?"

"Paul, listen to what you just said; if you expand on it the match make perfect sense."

"Solo, urbane, sophisticated, subtle and smoothe. Kuryakin socially awkward, a bit of an egg head, aggressive and direct. They're polar opposites, but together they compliment each other. What one lacks the other makes up for. The things those two have done together are almost legendary. Man, I only hope I get a partner as good as Solo or Kuryakin someday?"

"I think you're a little too full of hero worship Charlie."

"Hero worship, no. I'd like to be as good as either of them someday, that's all. We've got an opportunty to learn from the best for the next three days and I'm not blowing it."

"So what about your theory on Kuryakin and Mc Gowan?"

"Alright I admit, that's a pairing I just don't get?" Charlie laughed.

"Yeah the Ice Prince and the Banshee? I can't see a firecracker like her with him. Can you just picture that red-head in the sack? I have a good idea who's always the one on top?"

"She's one I wouldn't mind having a tumble with" Spavento growled, "Va-voom!"

The rookie agents finally decided to split their positons before Illya returned. Charlie moving himself to the bedroom, giving him a much better view as Illya had said.

They waited for Kuryakin and waited and waited, but he didn't come back.

"So I guess this is another test?" Spavento called.

"Why would he tell us he was going to get lunch then if he was going to leave us?" Charlie anwered from the other room. " that doesn't make sense; he's supposed to be supervising us?"

"Charlie you think he wants to do this. It was his reward for beating up Mike Anderson. They fired him you know...now that's just wrong. The American gets canned and the Russian doesn't, just over a fight? And I heard Anderson got the worst of the injuries too. Something is up there, I think the Russian is still Waverly's pet and gets special treatment."

"Special treatment, please? I heard he was suspended from the field. You don't pull one of your best agents out of the field to baby sit rookies; we're his punishment, don't kid yourself."

Several hours passed and finally Charlie decided that something was indeed wrong. He walked into the living room as he pulled his communicator.

"I'm going to contact headquarters, I have a bad feeling about this." he said.

"Who you gonna talk to?"

"Open channel D - Napoleon Solo please?"

"Solo here."

"Yes Mr. Solo, this is Agent Charlie Mannion. Mr. Kuryakin was supposed to be supervising Agent Spavento and

myself on a stakeout. Sir, he left to get lunch across the street hours ago and he never came back. At first we thought it was part of the assignment but now I'm not so sure?"

There was a pause. "No Mr. Kuryakin was supposed to remain with you. Stay put, I'm on my way. Solo out."

"Channel D- Kuryakin," requested Napoleon, "Illya are you there?"


	5. Chapter 5

Illya Kuryakin had now been missing for three days and so far there wasn't a single clue as to what had happened to him. Much to his frustration; Napoleon was having little success in the search for his partner's where abouts.

Elliott Kuryakin was away on assignment in Japan with her partner Ari Ziv, babysitting an ambassadors spoiled daughter and was unaware that her husband had gone missing again; leaving that news to be dropped in her lap when she returned to New York. Though Napoleon hoped Illya would be found safe and alive before Elliott arrived home.

But as each day passed, the same fear that gripped Solo's gut like a knot when Illya was missing in East Berlin for six weeks was back, growing stronger with the passage of time. As much as the Solo luck was touted; he thought that there was an equal pall of bad luck that seemed to hang over the Russian's head more often than not.

Olga Orloff the live-in nanny for the Kurakyin's son, as always had Demya, keeping the boy occupied; but was then unexectedly called to England as her sister had been hospitalized. This now complicated matters for Napoleon as he had been asked by the Kuryakins to be Demya's guardian should anything ever happen. For that reason he felt it was his responsibility to take care of the boy.

Napoleon had two options, send Demmy to Bella and her family, or stay with him at home at least giving the child some semblance of normalcy until one or both of his parents returned. He prayed it would be both.

Though the boy liked his Aunt Bella and her many nieces and nephews; the large family and volume level they generated seemed to upset Demya as he was more accustomed to a quiet home life with few playmates. For that reason Napoleon decided that the latter of his choices was the best option.

He would stay at the Kuryakin residence with his adoptive nephew. Alexander Waverly being very much aware of the situation assured Solo that unless it was of the utmost importance; he would not be sent into the field for now. It was times like these that the old man showed a greater compassion than usual towards his agents, since this was a monster of his own making...field agents with families.

Napoleon arrived, chilled from the crisp morning air. It was fall and foliage in the park across from the Kuryakin household was in it's full display of orange, red and yellow brightening up what was remained a grey day for him.

As he stood in the doorway, Olga offered him a telephone number that she could be reached at in England and was deeply concerned at having to leave the boy while his father was missing; but she had no choice.

"You sure you can do this ? He can be a handful? Remember if he starts to act up, speak to him in Russian. Oh the poor little thing, his papa gone again...poor Illuyshenka. Please find him Mr. Solo?

"Olga, I have just one question for you?" he flashed her his most charming smile, "just _where_ is Demya?"

"Oh I'm so sorry, I was so busy worrying. He is asleep in his bed upstairs, moy malen'kii angel_my little angel. He doesn't know about his papa. And I assume you know his mama doesn't know either?"

"Yes I do."

A yellow taxi honked it's horn as it pulled up in front of the brownstone. "Oh there's my cab," she said shoving the paper with her phone number into his hand.

Napoleon tried to help her with her bag, but she wouldn't hear of it. Olga was a big woman and strong as a Russian bear, so he didn't feel ungentlemanly when she carried her suitcase down the stairs; handing it to the driver who took it from her with a grunt.

"God lady what'cha got in heah?" the man spoke with a thick Brooklyn accent.

Napoleon watched as the vehicle pulled away, locking the door once the taxi was out of sight, then he set the alarm code on the keypad just inside the hallway. He flicked a switch, turning the vestibule security camera on, then checked the image in the monitor before heading up to look in on Demya.

To the little boy it was life as usual; his mother and father off doing their jobs. He had stopped pestering about them bringing home a brother for him; being unusually astute for one so young, he realized that his continuing to ask upset his mother, so he stopped. He was surprisingly well adjusted, considering his home life and was exceptionally intelligent for a child his age, which sometimes made it difficult at times to dodge his very keen questioning.

Napoleon knelt beside Demya as he slept; feeling an overwhelming sense of of sadness, wondering if the child would ever see his father again.

"This great little kid could be orphaned at any moment in his young life, "he thought. It had come close to happening too many times already.

Illya and Elliott both wanted a second child but were having little success at producing another Kuryakin. Though in his mind Napoleon questioned if it was a wise decision to want to deliberately bring a second child into such a precarious life? But that was their business not his; though it made him think about his approaching marriage to Bella.

She had asked him outright if he wanted children and he had told her that he wouldn't mind having a couple of little Solo's running around some day, but now he wasn't so sure. Napoleon liked the idea of having a child of his own as he looked down at the blond boy sleeping peacefully. It was a warm and fuzzy feeling one rarely had in the world of espionage.

But was he so willing to risk leaving a child fatherless as Illya did? Could he do that? It was a difficult question that he would have to anwer soon, as Bella had the right to know if he decided against becoming a father.

Demya's blue eyes opened wide; looking so much like Illya's as the child focused on Napoleon's presence.

"Hi there." he smiled.

"Uncle Napoleon what are you doing here in my bedroom?"

"Auntie Olga had to go to England, so I'm here to stay with you while your mama and papa are away."

"How long will she be gone?"

"I don't know sweetheart, her sister is ill and she needs to help take care of her."

"She didn't say good bye."

"That's because you were asleep."

"What about my papa, he never said good bye to me this time. He said he would be home every night and we would play chess? But he hasn't come home." Demya had that same pouting look that his father had when he was unhappy.

Boris the cat chose that moment to jump up on top of the boy's stomach. Napoleon thanking her under his breath for distracting the boy from his questions about his father as the cat played with a shoe lace that Demya was now dangling above her head; she swatting at it as she let out a meow.

"You get tuna fish today Boris old girl," he said as he scratched her behind the ears, sending her purring into overdrive.

"Come on volchock_wolf cub, lets get you washed up and then some breakfast. How do blueberry pancakes sound?"

"No cereal?"

"Yes, cereal too, " he laughed, forgetting the boy had an appetite like his father's.

"Toast...and don't forget the toast and tea Uncle Napoleon."

"Don't worry I won't." he chuckled, "Yup, you are your father's son."

"And a banana, can I have scrambled eggs too?"

"No, and that's may I have scrambled eggs."

"Please?"

"We'll see how you do with the rest of your breakfast first, how does that sound?"

"I will eat it all I promise."

Demya suddenly looked very concerned. "Uncle Napoleon, do _you_ know how to cook?"

Napoleon spent the morning trying to keep the younger Kuryakin occupied and deflecting more questions about his father. His mother had referred to him as a 'tornado' and that was right on the mark. He played hide and seek and in the process Demya destroyed a neatly stacked pile of laundry, a pile of periodicals and had dumped the contents of his toy chest across the living room floor and well pulling out the contents of a hall closet in he search for his Uncle. For a couple who had few belongings; they seemed to have accumulated a surprising amount of things. Books, games, toys and then of course there were Demya's belongings too. Though Illya's games and toys were more along the lines of experiments that he was always tinkering with.

Napoleon went from hide and seek to pony rides, tinker toys, coloring books, games of chess and it was barely noon.

But then just as his father would shut down when he was tired; thankfully Demmy did the same. He fell asleep on the couch, giving Napoleon a break to make some inquiries at headquarters before starting lunch, something simple this time that wouldn't require cooking; just peanut butter and jelly and a glass of milk and few cookies. Unless of course, the boy tried to weasel him into something else to eat. He smiled knowing that he would more than likely give in.

Demya again began to lose his steam late in the afternoon, finally settling into his Uncle Napoleon's lap asking for a story. The boy snuggled against him as he wrapped his arm around Demmy holding the boy as he rested against his chest. Napoleon grabbed a book of fairly tales by Hans Christian Anderson. Choosing the story called the 'The Most Incredible Thing;' he began to read it to him slowly with just a little drama.

"The one who could do the most incredible thing" he began, "should have the king's daughter and half the kingdom. The young men and even the old ones _strained_ all their thoughts, sinews and muscles trying to do what would be judged as the most incredible thing."

"Judges were chosen from all the people as everyone competed in a _great_ exibition of incredible things but all soon agreed that the most incredible was a _huge_ clock in a case marvelously designed inside and out. On the stroke of heach hour a living figure came out which showed what hour was striking. There were twelve in all with moving figures." It was a short but clever story; he finally reached the conclusion. "And the princess married the one who made the work of art. All were glad and blessed him; there was not one who was jealous, and that was the most incredible thing of all. The end."

He looked down, realizing Demya was asleep in his arms. It felt good, to have such a little one so close, completely trusting and loving and that made Napoleon lean the other way, back to wanting children of his own someday. Yes, he decided that he _wanted_ to be a father, feeling Demya's innocence had rekindled something within him. That wonderful spark of connection that Illya had with his son; Napoleon wanted _that_ with a child of his own as well. He dozed off with a renewed feeling of hope, sleeping contentedly with the boy in his arms until he was woken by the ringing of the doorbell.

Napoleon looked at his watch, seeing it was just past five. That would be Bella. He laid Demmy carefully down on the the sofa as he answered the door.

She was there to take over for part of the the night shift, enabling Napoleon to go to headquarters to get some work done while trying to locate his partner but then the bonus was that he would return to spend the night with her.

He wrapped his arms around his Bellissima, kissing her passionately but she sensed the sadness that gripped him.

"Napoleon, I know you're going to find him. That's what you do right?"

He nodded silently, standing in the doorway when they both saw a pair of blue eyes peaking at them around the corner from the living room.

"Hey you..."Napoleon childed playfully, "It's not polite to eavesdrop." Demya ducked out of sight, giggling mischieviously.

Bella looked oddly at Napoleon.

"Well it's not?" he said to her in all seriousness.

She smiled at him. "This coming from a spy?"

He chuckled then shrugged, giving her a quick peck on the cheek as he headed out the door.

"I'll be back baby."

"You'll find him," she reassured as he disappeared down the street to his car.

Traffic was heavy as drove up East 14th Street, heading towards the Avenue of the Americas as Napoleon rehashed in his head the possibilities of what could have happened to Illya. But then his thoughts drifted to Mike Anderson, remembering the man had made threats against Illya that day in the gymnasium; swearing that Illya would pay?"

Why hadn't he thought of him before? He blamed the Russian for getting him dismissed from Uncle, in Solo's mind this made him a prime suspect. Anderson was supposed to report to medical for a check up on his injuries and to be deprogrammed this evening. He hoped he could to get to him before that happened as the process would wipe everything U.N.C.L.E. from his memory, including any information about Illya.

Napoleon pulled his communicator.

"Channel D- Waverly."

"Yes Mr. Solo?"

"Sir, I just recalled that Agent Anderson had made threats against Illy..Mr. Kuryakin, could he possibly be behind this? He was due for deprogram today wasn't he? I hope that hasn't been done yet."

"Unfortuately Mr. Anderson did not keep his appointment. We presently have his apartment under surveillance as it is of the utmost importance that he be deprogrammed as soon as possible."

"Sir, can a member of security meet me at Anderson's place? I think I'd like to have a look around if that's alright with you."

"Yes by all means Mr. Solo please do so. I suppose at the moment, Mr. Anderson is our only person of interest, as no other leads are panning out."

"I agree sir."

As usual Mr. Solo, keep me informed. Out."

Napoleon and the security agent easily broke into the apartment. The place seemed normal, spartan as most agent's abodes would tend to be as they were rarely home. Though this place wasn't nearly as austere as Kuryakin's old apartment had once been.

They searched, looking for anything that might be a clue to Anderson's involvement but found nothing. Right now he would continue as the only person of interest as there was nothing coming over the Thrush communications indicating any UNCLE agent had been taken captive or killed.

Nothing going on from Europe, the STASI and KGB being the likely supects. Waverly had contacted the C.I.A. and was assured they were not involved in the Russian's disappearance; though their word was not always reliable.

Anderson's apartment was kept under continued surveillance. Three days later he finally appeared and was taken immediately into custody, being brought to interrogation at headquarters.

Solo let the man sit for a while, knowing that he was familiar with standard interrogation techniques. Waverly stood with his CEA behind the two way mirror; studying the man as he sat impatiently at the table, seemingly annoyed.

"That does not look like a guilty man to me,"Waverly said as he puffed casually on his pipe, filling the viewing room with the heady odor of his special blend, Isle of Dogs #22. "See what you can do Mr. Solo, then report to me in my office."

Solo walked into the interrogation room, not saying a word as he closed the door behind him.

"What the _fuck_ is going on here Solo? You have no right to hold me here. Remember I don't work for U.N.C.L.E. anymore?"

"So Mike where have you been? You missed your appointment with Dr. Schneider. He was very concerned about checking your injuries, after all they are technically our liability even though you don't work for us any more?"

"I'm so _touched_ at the concern. And as to where I was, well it's _none_ of your freakin' business. Where's that piss-ant partner of yours; maybe I'll talk to him; it'll give me a chance to give him a piece of my mind."

"Mr. Kuryakin will be down shortly, but I don't think you'd like him to conduct this little interrogation. You know we usually have to restrain him when he's alone with a prisoner. He takes his work quite seriously."

Anderson became aware of the tick tick tick of the clock on the wall; it's sound beginning to get on his nerves.

"Ugh...yeah that's right. I forgot about that. Maybe I don't want to talk to him after all. Hey, I'm not really a prisoner am I? I mean, I know I was supposed to report for debrief, but that's not a crime...is it?"

"Well tell me where you were and we'll see?"

Tick tick tick...

Anderson was perspiring heavily now and his voice went slightly up in pitch.

"No. I didn't do anything wrong, so why should I?" he said becoming a little more defiant. "Why do I have to give you an alibi? What's happened?"

Tick tick tick...

Napoleon suddenly grabbed him by the lapels, pulling him from the chair, shoving him up against the grey wall.

"I want to know where the _hell_ you were for the last three days!" he growled.

Tick tick tick tick...


	6. Chapter 6

"Mr. Solo?" a voice spoke to him over the intercom, interrupting his focus, "We need you upstairs at the agent's entrance."

He hit the switch; annoyed at the disruption, as he disliked anyone disturbing him when he was conducting an interrogation.

Just then klaxons sounded as the alarm for headquarters activated.

"On my way," he said cooly as he left Anderson to think things over.

His Walther was drawn as soon as he stepped into the corridor, heading at a run toward the elevator then out again on the main level navigating the corridors under the flashing lights as the alarm continued to blare. He quickly navigated amidst other agents scurrying to their assigned emegency posts.

He arrived at the reception desk finding Heather, her weapon drawn, looking along with several section IV agents at the screen for the security camera covering the outside of Del Florias.

"What's going on?"

They stepped aside giving him room to look at the image. It was dark, making it difficult to see exactly what it was.

"Sir, a car just sped up, screeched to a hault. Someone wearing a mask dragged that over to the steps and threw it down." The agent pointed to a dark mass as the foot of the stairs.

"Zoom in on it." Napoleon said. He turned a dial on the communicatios panel. "Solo here, security over ride, turn that damn alarm off now please."

"It looks like a body. See that, looks...like a head with blond hair," he spoke apprehensively as he pointed to the screen; knowing that Solo's blond-headed partner was missing.

Napoleon pressed the release button; opening the dressing room door, stepping out into the shop and cautioning Del to get inside to reception. Then as he opened the front door; the familiar tinkling of the brass bell came to life.

He knelt down in the stairwell, cautiously rolling over the still form. It was Illya. He checked for a pulse; he was alive but unconscious.

A team from medical arrived, hurrying the Russian away on a stretcher as his parter followed. He pulled his communicator, contacting the Old Man to inform him of the good but troubling news.

"Good news, yes Mr. Solo. However, it remains to be seen what has happened to Mr. Kuryakin. Let me know as soon as he regains consciousness?"

Napoleon sat near the nurses station; getting up again for the fifth time, pacing impatiently, feeling sick to his stomach. Then he felt hot as he broke out into a sweat, his skin felt prickly and he swore he was starting to itch.

"Napoleon, if you don't stop it, I'm going to ask Dr. Schneider to put you in a room yourself," Nurse Walsh warned, "You'd think you'd be used to this by now? My God, how many times have I watched you waiting for word on that partner of yours. He gets hurt an awful lot, you know I think he holds the record for stays in this place?"

Napolon replied with a sour look. He would never get used to this. The day he did, would mean it was the day he no longer cared...not that Nurse Walsh didn't care, but the medical personnel had a way of disconnecting themselves, cocooning their emotions from the pain and suffering they saw on a regular basis. He'd seen that ability in his Bella, but was glad when she chose to let her guard down and make the connection with him; opening the door to love for both of them.

But unlike Bella, the injuries that the staff handled here were not just broken arms and legs; gunshot wounds were the norm, they dealt with injuries that were the result of torture and inhuman cruelty.

Keeping their distance emotionally was their coping mechanism, just as waiting by his partners bedside was his.

"Why it was taking so damned long for him to be permitted in the room to sit is vigil?" He felt for a moment that if he weren't there; then Illya couldn't wake. He looked at his surrounding, the walls, the floor, the nurses desk. It was all grey, sterile grey. Why did it always have to be that color?

Dr. Schneider emerged from Kuryakin's room looking very tired, as he headed straight to Napoleon; who feeling equally as drained looked up with hope in his dark brown eyes.

"Still unconscious," Max shook his head. "I can't find obvious sign of trauma, but his arms are covered in needle marks so I've sent blood samples to the lab to be analyzed. Hopefully we can figure out what was pumped into him? And something else, he has a tattoo on his right forearm, a series of letters and numbers in blue ink."

"No Doc he's had that. He preferred keeping it hidden."

"I've never seen it before? Is it my imagination or does it looks like a concentration camp tattoo?"

The look in Napoleon's eyes gave Schneider the answer to his question."

"We need to cover it up for him in the mean time, if you don't mind? You understand? He doesn't want anyone else to know about it."

"I understand Napoleon. I'll put a bandage over it. You can go in to him if you want. I for one am very tired and I'm going home to bed now; unlike Alex Waverly, I require sleep. There's nothing I can do for him right now until I get those tests back. Napoleon, keep it short for once and go home, you've been running ragged lately yourself. You can't help him."

"Sorry Max, old Russian-American custom. You know we section II agents can be a little superstitous?" He tried smiling.

"Yeah right and I'm Albert Schweitzer. Good night Napoleon."

Solo picked up the telephone receiver at the nurses station, dialing the number for the Kuryakin's home.

A sleepy Bella answered.

"Sorry honey, I know I woke you."

"No that's alright I was awake, Demmy had a nightmare. First his mother called and he got very weepy after talking to her. He kept asking her when his papa is coming home, but Elliott thinks that Illya is on an assignment. Napoleon,

he seems to be very frightend about his father. Do you think we've telegraphed anything to him? He didn't act this way when Illya was missing for six weeks."

"Bella, stop. We have him."

"Oh thank God...is he alright?"

"He's unconscious. Schneider found a needle marks on his arms but doesn't know what was used."

"He is running a toxicology screen right?"

"Bella he knows what he's doing."

"Don't get short with me mister, I was just asking?"

"Sorry baby. I'm a bit stressed and tired too. I thought I had the guy that was responsible but now I'm not so sure. Look, I'm going to stay here until he wakes up, is there any way you can keep Demya for now? I guess take him to your mom and pop's?"

"No, that's not a good idea. He needs a calm environment, not the chaos in my parent's house, we'll keep him here for now. I'll take some of my vaction days; I'll tell them it's a family emergency. I've got way too many accumulated any way...hold on?"

"Bella?" he said into the receiver, "Bella what's wrong?"

"Napoleon, I have to go. Demmy's crying again...Illya will be alright, after all you're there with him? Love you." She hung up the telephone before he could say another word.

He walked quietly into his partner's room, half holding his breath until he saw the Russian laying in the bed, for once connected only to a heart monitor. He looked healthy and peaceful as if nothing were wrong, as if he could just open those blue eyes of his any second.

Napoleon pulled up an orange molded plastic chair, wishing it were more comfortable as he sat beside Illya's bed; simply watching his friends steady breathing and listening to the blip, blip blip of his heartbeat.

At one point he must have dozed off sometime during the night, as Nurse Walsh came in, calling to him softly; knowing well enough never to touch a sleeping agent.

"Napoleon?"

His eyes were open instantly.'hhmm? Yes?"

"Sorry to wake you, but Miss Graziani is on the telephone for you."

"What time is it?"

"It's seven a.m."

"Time for me to get up anyway." he yawned.

"Can I get you some coffee?"

"Please, that would be good. Thank you."

Napoleon walked out to the telephone, feeling as though he had just been there moments ago.

"Hi, you alright?"

"Not really. I've been up all night with him. Napoleon, the child was hysterical, he's worked himself into a frenzy. He's in a panic, thinking something has happened to is father and won't listen to reason. I don't speak any Russian, but I know that he listens when he's spoken to in it? You speak some right, can you talk to him please? I'm at my wits end here?"

He could hear the strain in her normally steady voice. Bella was not one to crack easily under pressure, but then dealing with a Kuryakin was a whole different animal.

"Sure honey, put him on."

He could hear her speaking in the background, telling the boy who it was on the phone.

"Uncle Napoleon?" he whimpered, sniffling a few times, " I want my papa?"

"Demya, your papa is away and you know very well he can't always talk to you when he is? Vy menya ponimaete_do you understand me?"

"No ya hochu, chtoby my papa_ I want my papa!" he raised his voice to his Uncle.

"Whoa! Demya Stoi! Vy dolzhny perestat' plakat' syeichas i vyshlushst' vashi Tetya Bella_ Demya stop! You need to stop crying now and listen to your Aunt Bella. Do you want your mama and papa to be cross with you when they come home and find out that you misbehaved?"

"Nyet"

"So are you going to stop now?" He said as he swallowed a mouthful of black coffee from mug the nurse had just slipped in front of him. He thanked her with a quick wink.

"Yes sir."

"Obeshchanie_promise?"

"Ya obeshchayu_ I promise."

"Horoshii mal'chik_good boy. Now put Aunt Bella on the phone please?'

"I don't know what you just said to him but it worked like a charm?"

"Not me. That's his father's training, guess you can take the boy out of the Soviet Union, but you can't take the Soviet Union out of the boy, Illya can be pretty stubborn when it comes to being listened to. Will you be O.K.? I really need to stay here with him."

"To use your agent venacular. Fine, I'll be fine. Thank you my darling. I'm going to try to get some sleep now. Will I see you some time today do you think?"

"Hard to tell, but I'll let you know. Sogni d'oro_sweet dreams. Bye." he whispered.

Napoleon swallowed more coffee with satisfaction, thinking it was heavenly then suddenly found a silly Chock full of Nuts jingle caught in his head, thinking 'better coffee a millionaire's money can't buy."

"Thanks, Nurse Walsh, this really is a good cup of coffee."

"You know after all these years, you've never called my by my first name Napoleon?"

"You've never asked?"

"Then please call me Nancy."

"Pleasure to meet you Nancy. Wait a minute, that's not your first name is it?"

She laughed. "You never caught on did you?"

Napoleon shrugged his confusion in following her.

"You never noticed that I seemed to be here all the time?"

"Well usually I was either in a hospitall bed or sitting next to one, so what is it you're saying?"

"I have an identical twin sister who is a duty nurse here as well."

"Really, twins?" Napoleon wondered how the hell he had missed that one. "Twins." he repeated with a smile.

"Get your mind out of the gutter." she smiled, "That's exactly why we never told you."

"And what's your sister's name again?

"If you can't remember, then I'm not telling."

"Twins, hhmm." He wondered if she was pulling his leg or not.

A small alarm went off at the station. "O.K.? Something's going on with Mr. Kuryakin."

The two walked quickly into Illya's room, finding him moving a little in bed; twitching, his hands clenching then releasing and rapid-eye movement. His heart rate had increased slightly, but nothing to indicate a problem.

"I think he's dreaming." she said.

"Nyet nyet." Illya mumbled apparently talking in his sleep,

"pazhaluista, ne raz...stoi, ostanovit._please not again, stop stop." Then his voice trailed off as he settled down again.

"What did he say?"

Napoleon just shook his head, not having the will to say. He knew his partner was reliving something terrible but what that thing was; he had no idea.

_Illya struggled as Karl Voelker took hold of him, then cried out in pain as the man sodomized him, leaving him in tears. Then it was Lazar' the apparatchik at the gulag having at him, slamming his weakened body against the wall as the man raped him again."Pazhaluista, ne raz," he begged," stoi, ostanovit." When he was finished, the man threw a stale crust of bread at him in payment as Illya shook, laying down on the boards that were his bed. He covered himself with his flimsy blanket as he devoured the offering, ashamed at his inability to defend himself._

Napoleon pulled up his chair again, sipping his coffee; determined to stay at Illya's bedside until he woke.

Max Schneider walked into Illya's room, finding his partner stationed beside the Russian's bed as he had found him so many times in the past.

"Good morning."

Napoleon nodded tiredly, noticing the clip board in the physician's hand.

"Test results?"

"Pretty wild stuff in his blood. There's so many different chemicals, narcotics, hormones it's a regular smorgaobord of drugs. There are some compounds that the lab can't even identify yet? Thrush has come up with a doozy this time."

"You think it's them?

"Odds would be in favor of that as they're the ones who like to mess with crap like this."

"Prognosis?"

"Napoleon, I really can't say. This is such a bizarre mix of elements. The lab has never really seen anything like it. We're just going to have to play the waiting game and see if he comes out it. Physically he's strong, fully recovered from his last incident. Psychologically..."

Napoleon cut him off. "He's fine Max, trust me there."

"You know him better than I do, so I'm going to trust you there, for now."

"But?"

"We may have to get Dennison involved with this. He could have some severe problems, after all he's barely gotten over the last trauma."

"Do me a favor? Hold off on that for a bit, please trust me on this?"

"Sure why not? What's the point, we're putting the horse before the cart anyway."

Illya began to move about again, beginning to talk. 'Stoi anchlag, rhoi'r gorau i, sluta, staí, parada, tíngzhi, stoppen," From what Napoleon undertood, his partner was repeating the word stop, over and over in multiple languages; some of which Napoleon didn't recognize at all; guessing they were all had the same meaning.

"Illya can you hear me?" Illya!" he called to him. "Where the hell are you tovarisch."

"Da, ya zdes', moy drug_I am here my friend" Illya whispered to him as his eyes opened. He took him a few moments to realize were 'here' was.

"Welcome back?"

"Kudu ya idu?"

"Where did you go? Good question. Illya why are you speaking Russian to me?"

"Ya?"

"Yes you are."

Schneider was watching and listening. "Alright you two, do you mind if I just do a quick check of your vitals Illya?"

"Nyet."

Scheider looked confused. "He's not kidding around is he?

"Doktor, ya nahozhus' zhes' i mogu ponyat'"

Napoleon translated. "Doctor, I am here and can understand you."

"But Illya, I can't understand you."

Dr. Schneider leaned in lifting Illya's eye lid as he flashed a small penlite checking his pupilary dialation. Then he reached around, his neck checking his glands.

"Chto chuvstvuet ochen' nyeudobno."

"He said that feels very uncomfortable." Solo translated.

Schneider continued with the exam, taking a stethescope, checking his heart and breathing. Then Max took hold of one of Illya's arms, examining the puncture marks, taking note that he seemed to act nervously at being touched.

"How does it feel?"

"There is a slight burning, a tingling sensation at first. It is most..." he paused, searching for a word, " nepriyantni, disagreeable."he spoke in both Russian and English now.

As Max continued to probe Illya's body; the Russian shrank back. "Nyet!" He clenched both his fists, squeezing his eyes closed. "On gorit! fire...burns, it burns!" He struggled to say it in English.

"Where? All over?"

"Nyet, no where you just touch...touched me."

Max lifted his arm again to examine it and again Illya pulled it away, this time hissing in pain. "Ssstop! Do not ttoucch me? he stuttered.

Max and Napoleon looked at each other with raised eye brows. Schneider hit the call button for the nurse,

"Yes Doctor?"

"Would you please bring me a pair of latex gloves."

A moment later Nurse Walsh returned with them and Max slipped only one onto his hand.

"Alright Illya, we're going to try a little experiment?"

He reached out touching the gloved hand to Illya's arm but received no reaction.

"Any pain?"

"No."

Then Schneider did the same with his other hand. As soon as his skin came in contact with Illya's he let out a yelp.

"Interesting? And you say it feels like your skin is burning?"

"At first it feels like small tingling, then it is as if skin has burst into flame." His accent was decidedly Russian, instead of his usual slightly British one.

"O.K. but sorry I have to do this," He pulled down the blanket, exposing the Russian's legs, looking at them carefully. Then he did the same test and receiving the same results.

"Same pain?"

"Yes but stronger this time."

"One last time." Schneider did the same, touching Illya's face and head, again with the same results."

"Please not again!."Illya said,"stop!"

Napoleon looked at the doctor, realizing those were the same words Illya had muttered when they thought he was dreaming.

"Tovarisch do you remember what happened to you?"

"No! What happened to me, do _you_ know?"

"That's what we're trying to find out. Illya you disappeared for three days." Napoleon had a bad feeling, given that Illya had awoken speaking only Russian; that he had been reliving his torture and rape in the gulag. Maybe his partner wasn't over it after all.

The Russian stared at the wall, trying to focus his thoughts. "I was gone for three days?" he repeated in disbelief. "Der'mo_shit."


	7. Chapter 7

"Alright Napoleon," said Max." You're done here. I want you gone for the day, understand me?"

"May I please have a few more words with Illya before I go." he felt as though he were being brushed aside, but in truth he knew that the doctor was right in doing it. "in private, please if you don't mind?"

"Fine. I have a few other patients to check in on anyway; but you better be gone when I get back. I need to think more about what might be causing this problem with your partner."

Illya had closed his eyes again, apparently searching his mind for any hint as to what had happened to him. "Napoleon I have no memory of it at all?"

"What's the last thing that you remember?"

"I was annoyed at the rookies, specifically one of them for making some remarks about me when he thought I was out of earshot. Nothing such as what was spouted from the lips of Anderson, but harsh enough words enough to make me stop and question myself. I do not understand why so many people take a dislike to me? Am I a pompous know it all?"

"Well tovarisch, you are very knowledgeable, efficient and to the point with your methods and that could be be misconstrued at the times. But that's because they don't know you like I do." he smiled.

"So I am a know it all?"

"Sometimes you can come across that way."

Illya shook his head, " And I suppose pompous as well?"

"No you're not and as I said already, you're very knowledgeable."

He found it strange that Illya did not seem perturbed by his unexplained pain. "Aren't you concerned about what's happening with you?"

"Of course I am, but until Dr. Schneider contiues his poking, prodding and tests, what is the point in worrying? I feel fine, unless I am touched by someone. It is a very interesting positon I have been put into; I wonder what sort of compound Thrush has come up with this time to annoy me? I wish I could go to my lab?"

Napoleon shook his head at his partner's statements. "Only Illya" he thought to himself.

"Stop being the scientist for a minute and get back to the matter at hand, which is what happened to you? What's the last thing you actually remember?"

"I left the two rookies at the surveillance site to fetch some lunch for the three of us. I walked into the deli across the street. I do not remember anything after that?"

"Nothing"

"Not a thing."

"Do you think we need to take a look those two section III agents?"

"No I do not think that is necessary; they would not had have the wherewithal, nor the motive to have done anything against me?"

"We have Anderson in custody, do you think he could have done this to you?"

"Napoleon I have no idea." He began rubbing his temple.

"Are you in pain again?"

"No, I am fine."

"Do you have any idea why you were speaking Russian when you woke up?"

"I was dreaming I was back in the gulag again. I was confused as I am at the moment. And please do not try to touch me right now as it is becoming most unpleasant. Napoleon are Elliott and Demya alright? Are they aware that I was missing?"

"Elliott is still in Japan and doesn't have a clue, she thinks you were on a mission as does your son. He's with Bella at your house by the way, she and I have been taking care of him."

"Olga was called to England, her sister fell ill. Illya he's been acting up a bit, having nightmares about you. He was upset that you left without saying good bye and is convinced that something happend to you. Perhaps a phone call to him from you will help while your laid up here will help?"

"Thank you Napoleon, I knew we made you his guardian for a good reason." he smiled.

"I've told you I'll always have your back, that extends to your family too. I have to say your son has been a good influence on me." Napoleon stopped himself before he began to gush with sentimentality. "Now let me go get that telephone."

Napoleon dialed the number for the house; Bella answered.

"Good morning."

"Napoleon?" she yawned."everything alright?"

"Getting better. Illya is conscious, but not without issues. He'd like to talk to Demmy. Is he awake?"

"Oh yeah. The Kuryakin tornado is on the move. God I wish I had half his energy? I'm glad Illya's O.K."

"Not really, but we'll talk when I get home."

He listened as she called the boy to the phone. "Demmy, there's a telephone call for you...some one special to speak to you."

He handed the receiver to Illya."Hello Demyachka," he tried speaking cheerfully.

"Papa! I was very worried about you. Why didn't you say good bye, you said you would be home every night. Why didn't you come home? Papa please come home now!"

"Demya, calm down. Uspokoit' sya moy syn. U menya vse prekarasno_Calm down my son, I am fine."

"Kogda vy idete domoy_when are you coming home?" Illya could hear in his voice that he getting ready to cry.

"No tears. I am not ...Ne, a ya boyus'_not coming home for a while I am afraid. Vy ne dolzhny rasstraivat' sya i bespokoit' sya obo me_you should not get upset and worry about me? I am fine, I am speaking to you now, do I not sound fine? Demayachka I need you to give me your word that you will behave for Uncle Napoleon and Aunt Bella. Please do this for me?"

"Yes papa I will."

"Spacibo moy syn. Now I have to go. I promise I will be coming home...I just do not know when alright?"

"Da papa. Ya lyublyu tebya."

"I love you too Demayachka." Illya handed the phone back to Napoleon with a sigh, being careful not to touch his partner's hand.

"Demmy tell Aunt Bella I will be there soon please?"

"Yes Uncle Napoleon. And thank you for helping my papa." he whispered.

Napoleon was surprised at those words but said nothing to his partner about it.

"Napoleon Solo," said Nurse Walsh, "Dr. Schneider told me if you were still here, to kick your sorry butt out and to tell you to go home and get some sleep. That is now offically doctor's orders or else? needs to rest."

"I do not need to rest," Illya said, "I feel fine."

"No you are not fine. Now out Napoleon chop-chop!"

"O.K. O.K...now which one are you?" he smiled

"Out!"

"Napoleon, listen to the yebla bol' zadnitse_fucking pain in the ass."

"Depends on which one it is," he smiled as backed out the door to the room.

"What does that mean?"

"Another story for another day. See you later tovarisch."

Nurse Walsh clicked her tongue then after putting on a pair of latex gloves, readied to disconnect Illya from the heart monitor.

"I am hungry, when is breakfast?"

"I'll have to ask the doctor if you can eat just yet."

She placed her hand on Illya's chest as she started to remove the lead and he suddenly arched his back, crying out in pain.

"Illya, what's wrong?"

He gasped, catching his breath for a moment. "It hurt where you touched me with your hand."

"But I was wearing a glove?"

She went immediately to fetch Dr. Schneider. And again he ran the same painful tests with the Russian, but now wearing the latex gloves made no difference. And the pain was increasing in intensity.

The strange thing was that Illya felt no pain when in contact with inanimate objects, such as his hospital gown, the bedding, medical instruments. It seemed that human contact or more specific limted human contact was causing his discomfort.

As Napoleon rode the elevator downstairs; suddenly remembering that he had left Mike Anderson sitting in the interrogation room all night.

Perhaps the experience had indeed softened him up a bit. But even though he suspected Anderson wasn't involved in Illya's disappearance now; he still wanted to know why the man was still so evasive about where he had gone for the last three days.

He hit the button for the security level heading directly to the room, finding Anderson with his head resting on his arms, laying on the table.

"Wake up sunshine!" he called, startling he man.

"You look like crap? So you going to tell me what the hell this is all about? Am I a prisoner or not, I have a right to know?"

"Just tell me where you were for those three days?"

Anderson sat for a moment, grinding his teeth. "Alright! I was in Washington, Langley to be precise as I was applying for a job with the C.I.A. and if you don't believe me call Bill Klein."

"Thank you Mike. That wasn't so hard was it?" Napoleon was hoping Anderson was the guilty party but with this answer; he now doubted it, though he still needed to verify his alibi. " O.K. once your story checks out with Klein, then you'll be sent for deprogram."

Anderson's story was as indeed as he had admitted; leaving Napoleon without a prime suspect. Anderson was released to Security for the next step in processing as a former agent. Through the use of special hypnosis and drugs; all of his memories work with and about the organization were wiped from his mind.

Napoleon brought Agents Spavento and Mannion in for questioning in spite of Illya's assurances, but they too proved to be guilt free. He had to resolve to himself that it was more than likely Thrush's doing; but then why did they dump Illya off at headquarters, why not just keep him or kill him for that matter? None of this made sense.

Schneider ordered a full neurological workup, and a CAT scan. And though he knew it would upset the Russian, he would as a last resort call Dr. Dennison in for a psychological consult.

Four days later there were still no answers as to what was causing Illya Kuryakin's mysterious pain that was increasing in intensity, but again only when he came into human contact.

"Knock knock," Dr. Dennison said as he walked into Kuryakin's room.

"How are we feeling today."

"Are we referring to our mental, emotional or physical status?" Illya answered sarcastically as he proceeded to cross his arms in front of his chest in a defensive posture.

"Starting already I see."

"There is nothing wrong in my head...or should I say with my mind. If I could just be released from here; things would be fine. I can manage. I need to get to my lab."

"Well Illya given that all your medical results come up normal. We have had to come to the conclusion that you are having psychological problems. You just went through a major emotional and physical trauma less than two months ago."

"You were tortured and nearly starved to death it would stand to reason that you still have some underlying issues and given that you were unaccounted for three days during which you were injected with some inidentifyable substance; I would suspect some of those issues have resurface in the form of this psycho-somatic condtion."

"We can find no correlation between your mystery pain and the substance, the fact that you were is a very stressful situation for six weeks... what I'm trying to say is that this pain you're experiencing is in..."

"Is _not_ in my head! It is real!" Illya turned his head away from Dennison.

"Illya, you are imagining the pain; reacting to human touch because your past hurts were inflicted upon you by human hands."

Kuryakin closed his eyes, rolling over on his side with his back to the doctor surrepticiously ending the conversation.

"Mr. Kuryakin do not ignore me."

"_Poshyol_ ty'__fuck_ you!"

Dennison walked out in a huff. He had made a point of learning of few Russian phrases, as Kuryakin had thrown them at him in the past, and knew exactly what he had just been told.

"He's not getting his way this time." he said to Max Schneider. "he has to admit that it's in his head. If he doesn't accept and resolve this; then I'll recommend him for mandatory retirement.

Elliott Kuryakin's flight from Tokyo left her tired and cranky. She had left her partner at the airport as he waited for his flight to Israel as he had a weeks vaction coming to him. "Lucky bastard," she thought to herself.

She was looking forward to getting home for at least a day or two, maybe Waverly would be merciful and not send her out on a long assignment like this one had been. The ambassador's teenage daughter had them running in circles thinking she was kidnapped from under their noses at one point, only to find she was off on a romantic rendezvous with the son of the prime minister of Japan.

"That girl was going to be a problem, but better theirs than ours." Elliott said to herself, as the security staff from the embassy finally took over the babysitting service once it was dicovered there was no real kidnapping threat.

Elliott was worried about her Demmy, he seemed very whingy to her the last few time she had spoken to him. It was a rare occasion that she had been able to call him so frequently when on a mission. He repeatedly asked when she was coming home, each time they spoke. Then he started looking for his father, nearly to the point of hysteria.

He was intellectually beyond his physical years and maybe that was making the absence of his parents becoming harder to deal with. Intelligent or not, he was still a three year old boy.

He was very much his father's son and Elliott wondered for a second if the boy had inherited the 'gift' that Illya said ran in his gypsy side of the family. The boy had gypsy blood from both of them, maybe it was possible?

Illya was off on an assignment and hoped that he was alright, thinking that Demya's upset over his father was nothing more that him missing Illya.

The taxi pulled up in front of the familiar facade of Del Floria's and Elliott entered the building with a tired smile, waving to Del as he hit the steam press. She entered the dressing room, pulled the clothes hook, opening the hidden door.

"Hi Wanda," she said the the agent at the desk.

"Welcome home Elliott. Mr. Waverly wants to see you in his office immediately."

"Will do" she smiled as she pinned her badge to her blouse. The Old Man wasn't giving her a moments break was he?

Elliott found a very tired looking Napoleon seated at the conference table with Waverly; both quite grave in their appearance.

"Please don't tell me something has happened? Ye both have that sort of look on yer faces."

"Welcome home my dear, please sit down."

Elliott seated herself next to Napoleon, looking him in the eye asking a silent question of 'what's going on' with her look.

"Unfortunately you have surmised correctly. Five days ago while on a training session with several section III agents Mr. Kuryakin disappeared."

"What? Again?"

"_Then_ was unceremoniously dumped back on our doorstep. He was unconscious and seemily injury free, except for multiple needle marks in both his arms. He was missing for three days and is uable to account for his where abouts."

Elliott allowed herself to relax. " So he's alright then?"

"Mr. Solo, would you be so kind as to continue."

"Elliott, he's alright, but not quite."

"Meaning from what he was injected with?"

At first he said nothing, making Elliott just a little anxious.

"Will ye tell me what the hell is going on, what's happened ta my husband?"

"They can't isolate exactly what it was he was injected with, Schneider said the lab...well to make a long story short. He can't be touched."

"What do ye mean he can't be touched? I don't understand."

"He is hypersensitive to human touch, can't tolerate it at all. It he comes into any sort of contact with another human being, it causes him pain. He says it's like a tingling, then a burning sensation on his skin like it's on fire.

"How long does Schneider think this is going to last?"

"Unfortunately it's getting worse instead of better. Dr. Dennison..."

"No _not_ a good idea to get him involved."

"Ellie, they think it's psychosomatic, the result of the combination of being kidnapped, being given the cocktail of drugs, along with residual emotional trauma from what happened to him two months ago."

"They're saying he's crazy, no flippin' way!"

"I agree." Napoleon said.

"Well that's what we have to work with at the moment," Waverly finally interjected, " and unless proven other wise; Mr. Kuryakin is to be treated by the psych department. Pehaps you being home will help your husband recover my dear. In the mean time, I'm sure you are anxious to see him. Your report can wait in the meantime. Mr. Solo, please keep me informed?"

Max Schneider met Elliott and Napoleon as they stepped from the elevator to the medical level.

"How's he doing Max?" she asked.

"I wish I could say fine, but for the moment he is behaving quite normally. I should say, normal for him that is."

At that moment there was a crash coming from Illya's room as a dinner tray came sliding across the floor into the corridor, followed by a very flustered duty nurse.

"Leave me alone... vy karova_you cow!

"As you can hear for yourself," Schneider finished his sentence.

"I presume that you were brought up to speed on his conditon?" he said to Elliott. "It's as if Illya's pain receptors are on overdrive right now, though I can find no neurological reason for it at all. Elliott you _cannot_ touch him, in any way. Not even through his clothes or with gloves, understand?"

"Yes I do."

"Alright, go ahead in."

Napoleon waited outside for a few minutes to give them some privacy.

As she walked in, Elliott found the idea of not touching her husband a very unsettling thought but she tried to seem cheerful for his sake.

"Illuysha, I see yer being yer usual happy self."

"Annushka, I am so glad you are home." he summoned a smile.

She walked to his bedside, leaning close but not coming into contact.

"I understand that I'm not allowed to touch ye right now? Bad?"

"Bad enough. Other than that, I feel fine. That...chto mudak Dennison dumaet, chto eto vse v moyei golove_that asshole Dennison thinks it is all in my head."

"Well we know better don't we?"

"Please do not use the collective 'we'? That is how Dennison speaks to me."

"So ye are in no pain at all right now?"

"None, it only happens when I am in physical contact with another person and that is not good right now as I very much want to kiss you and make love to you." he whispered.

"Me too my darlin'." Elliott leaned close to his face, whispering softly, " I'm kissing you in my mind right now my love."

"Thank you Anya, I suppose I will see you in my dreams tonight then."

"That's a date," she smiled. "I'll be off now, I've got to get home to Demmy."

"Elliott, he thinks I am away. I have spoken to him on the telephone, he has been very emotional as of late."

"Yes, I called from Japan several times, I know Bella and Napoleon have been taking care of him and she told me how upset he's been."

"Give him a kiss for me?"

"I will my love. Sweet dreams." she said, trying to hide the sadness in her voice as she left him.


	8. Chapter 8

Napoleon drove Elliott home after her visit with Illya, but they didn't speak at all on the short drive to Washington Sqaure from headquarters as she had fallen asleep within minutes. When they arrived in front of the brownstone, he smiled, thinking that the Russian was rubbing off on her as it was often her husband's habit to doze off in the car when he wasn't behind the wheel.

"Ellie, wake up, " he whispered, not touching her of course. "you're home. You can sleep off your jetlag in the comfort of your own bed now.

"I'm awake, I was just resting my eyes." she lied.

The house was quiet as they entered since it was nearly 10 p.m. and Demya was sure to be asleep. Bella was there as well, lying on the sofa wrapped up in a warm throw blanket, with the fireplace burning brightly.

"Scotch?" Elliott whispered.

Napoleon nodded quietly as he walked into the living room, kneeling down beside his beautiful fiancée. He blew softly on a strand of stray hair that had fallen in front of her face; making it tickle her as she slept, until she crinkled her nose, then swatted with her hand.

"Bella il mio amore, time to wake up."

Her violet eyes fluttered open, squinting just a little as she smiled, then she stretched her arms like a cat. " Hi handsome, you look tired."

"I am. Elliott's back, so I can take you home."

"Mmm that would be nice," she whispered as she closed her eyes, drifting right back to sleep again."

"Or maybe not," he said to himself.

He stood up, meeting Elliott half way in the hall; taking the glass from her then holding a finger up to his lips for her to be quiet.

"Ye are welcome to stay the night if ye want?"

He grinned at her. "Ellie, there was a time that I would have given anything for you to have said that to me." he said as they headed to the kitchen," but no. I'll leave Bella here though. Why wake her? I'll be by in the morning to pick her up, if that's alright with you? She seems...what's that Irish word you use, crackerjax? You know when you're tired."

Elliott laughed softly, "That's banjaxed."

He downed the rest of his drink, gave Elliott a peck on the cheek then left, heading home to his apartment for the first time in over a week.

For the next seven days Illya Kuryakin spent his time being ferried between medical and Dr. Dennison's office. Each day he became more dour and irritable; not because of his unchanging condition but more so because of the annoying and condescending treatment of Dennison.

The Russian was tired of lying in a hospital bed, sitting in a hospital chair or sitting in Dennison's office. That was his routine and he tired of it and tired of people, though well-meaning, coming up to visit him. He was tired of being tired.

He was becoming jumpy, fearing they would touch him by accident. Lisa Rogers, Wanda, Dolores, Heather and endless entouage of women the secretarial pool, George Dennell, Bob Denman, Terry Tramell, the rest of the lab staff, and of course Napoleon and Elliott.

His anxiety levels increased as each person came into his room; though they had been warned no physical contact. Terry Tramell forgot himself as he placed a consoling hand on Illya's; sending the Russian writhing into pain; though he forced himself into not to cry out.

As soon as Terry touched Illya's hand, he gasped, apologizing profusely that he's forgotten. Illya could do nothing more than grit his teeth until the pain subsided as he attempted to hide it from him.

After that incident all visitors were banned, with the exception of Kuryakin's wife and partner.

Napoleon sat at Illya's bedside as ususal, having brought him a chocolate banana split to soothe his friend's woes; knowing that something edible was one of only a few things that would cheer him up right now; the others such as blowing something up or a more personal activity with his wife were just not going to happen. Although Illya had once remarked that he described chocolate as being somewhat orgasmic?

"I don't know how you don't gain weight with what you pack away; especially since you've been inactive again."

"Perhaps someday my metobolism will change but until then I will enjoy my food." he smiled, then his attitude changed. " Napoleon if I do not get out of here I think I will begin to go mad. Though I suspect that Dennison already thinks I am. I just want to go home."

"I hear you my friend," he said as he stole a spoonful of ice cream from the dish, "tell you what, I'll have a talk with the Old Man. Maybe we can get authorizaion for you to be treated as an out-patient?"

"That would help. Though I am sure Dennison will not think so?" he grumbled.

Max Schneider continued to work on solving the Russian's dilemma, trying pain medications, hypnosis, even a special programming technique used by Security, but it all proved useless. He was not happy with Dennison's lack of success and could see Kuryakin's mood was deteriorating. So after a request for release from medical came from Alexander Waverly he decided it was in the patient's best interest to comply, against the protests of Dr. Dennison.

Illya Kuryakin was at last released to go home, three weeks to the day that he was found dumped in the stairwell at Del Florias. It was also decided to let him work light duty in Research and Development; that having been Napoleon's idea, as he knew his partner needed to keep active and feel as though he were still making an active contribution.

This was all under the proviso that he could have no physcial contact with others. His work schedule was adjusted for him to be in the lab during the evening when it was either empty or staffed with a skeleton crew; lowering the risk of contact with others. The corridors would be less busy, the commisary closed, but arrangements were made to have meals prepared and ready for him in the walk-in fridge.

It became Schneider's hope that seeing his family would help Kuryakin some how to improve, as he too was beginning to worry as well that it might all be in the Russian's head.

Illya's first night home would be a challenge; Demya having been thoroughly lectured not to touch his father under any circumstances. It was a hard pill to follow for a three year old child who adored his father and for the father who adored his son.

It was all Illya could do not to scoop his teary-eyed boy into his arms, as Elliott held a restraining hand on their son's shoulder. So the visit with Demya was a very short one as it was causing emotional stress for all of them; which was just the opposite of what Schneider had intended.

At bedtime Illya looked in on Demmy, but it pained him in a different way to not be able to tuck him in and kiss him goodnight.

He finally walked into his bedroom to at last join his wife; changing into his favorite old pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, then he climbed into bed next to Elliott.

Illya stopped, suddenly realizing he could not do this for several reasons. He could not lie in bed next to the woman he loved and not touch her and there was also the risk that they could accidentally come in contact with each other while they slept; as they would often wake up in the morning snuggled up together whether they had had made love or not.

He wanted to hold Elliott so badly and the found himself becoming aroused at just the thought of being next to her.

"Annushka, I cannot do this."

She could hear the strain in his voice as he whispered to her as he rose from the bed. "I am sorry, I cannot sleep here."

He walked out of the bedroom, but she knew better than to follow him as he was upset, and when he was that way; Illya Kuryakin needed his space both literally and figuratively.

Rather than go to sleep in the guestroom, Illya chose to grab a blanket and pillow; going downstairs to sleep on the sofa. He lit a fire as the room was a bit chilly then crawled onto the couch, pulling the blanket up about him.

Elliott lay in bed, unable to sleep; worrying about Illya's state of mind. He was cut off from his family, being with them but not. He was cut off from every other human being as well, not being able to experience a simlple touch or gesture.

The next morning Illya sensed a presence as he lay on the sofa, his hand grasping his weapon under the pillow.

He opened his eyes, seeing he son staring at him.

"Good morning moy syn." he smiled.

"Hi papa. Why are you sleeping on the couch? Did you and mama have a fight again?"

"No, no fight." he chuckled. Then his demeanor changed becoming very serious. "Remember Demyachka, do not touch me."

"I won't papa. Are you sick, is that why I can't touch you?"

"Yes, that is the reason why."

"When will you be better?"

"I do not know Demyachka, soon I hope."

Demya held up his Teddy bear. "Can Mr. Bear give you a kiss for me papa?"

Illya smiled, " May Mr. Bear give you a kiss, please." he corrected, "And the answer is yes, but carefully."

Demya held the stuffed toy to his father's face, pretending to kiss him, making a loud smack with his lips.

Illya reached over, taking the toy carefully from his son, squeezing it in his arms. "Mr. Bear would you give Demyachka a hug for me?" He made the bears head nod. "Blagodaryu vas, gospodin Medved'_thank you Mr. Bear."

Illya squeezed the toy, pretending to speak for the bear.

"Oh please do not squeeze me too tight papa?"

"K sozhaleniyu medvedya_sorry Mr. Bear. I just want you to give Demya a very special hug for me?"

Demya took back the toy, then hugged it to himself with a giggle.

"It is a very good hug papa!"

Boris jumped up onto the coffe table with a "miaow," then leapt across to Illya.

"No Boris!" Demya yelled, reaching across to take her away from his father, thinking she too could not touch him as well. His arm came into full contact with his father's chest as he grabbed the cat, trying to move her away.

Illya screamed with the pain, doubling over as he fell from the couch, rolling onto the floor with a thud

Demya cried out in terror as he watched his father, then his mother ran into the room scooping him up holding him tightly to her.

She too watched in horror as her husband struggled in pain on the floor.

"Oh Jay-sus Illya!" she sobbed as she knew she couldn't lay a finger on her husband to help him.

"It is alright," he finally said as the pain subsided, though it had been the worst bout yet. He picked himself up from the living room floor, reassuring his son that he was alright.

The boy was clinging to his mother as she held him; the tears running down his cheeks as he shook with fear.

"I'm sorry papa!" he wailed.

"Demya, it is alright. Papa is fine now, it was an accident and not your fault.

"But Boris.."

"Boris did nothing wrong either. Demyachka, it was an accident? Vy ponimaete_understand?"

Illya gave his attention to his wife. "We need to talk, could you take him to his room?"

"Alright Illuysha." she said quietly, as she was trying to calm herself from the episode as well, This was the first time she had witnessed his reaction to being touched and it was as frightening for her just as much as it was for Demya.

She returned from putting Demya down; finding Illya sitting on the sofa, looking very forelorne.

"Anya, I cannot stay here; you and Demya cannot be put though this hell. I never should have come home. I think it is best that I stay at headquarters.

"But Illya," she began to protest.

"Nyet moy lyubov'_no my love. I cannot live here and not be able to touch the both of you and you me. I cannot take that torment on top of my pain, please forgive me for being weak?"

"Illya don't blame yerself. We can do this, it was just an accident?"

"Nyet, how many more accidents will happen? I will not put my son through that terror again."

"Illuysha please no?" she wanted so badly to hold him.

He said no more and after a silent breakfast, he packed a small suitcase of clothing to take with him to headquarters. He unpacked his belongings into guest quarters; as no one was occupying any of the rooms, leaving the entire floor to himself.

Then he headed downstairs, thankful that the elevator had been empty; decideing to retreat to his office until he could go to the lab in the evening. He walked carefully, giving a wide berth to everyone who came near him in the corridors; no one, except for a select few, knew of his condition as that had been kept under wraps.

George Dennell approached him as he came around the corner.

"Hey Illya, good to see you up and about. Feeling better huh?" He went to slap the Russian on the shoulder, but Illya took a quick step back, avoiding the contact, with a nervous look on his face.

"What's wrong Illya?"

"Nothing major, sore shoulder," he lied, "that is why I am working in R & D tonight."

"Oh, I get it, " George winked, " see you later maybe?"

"Right George, maybe later." Illya ducked quickly ducked out of sight, trying to avoid anyone else. Once he reached the safety of his office, he sat wearily at his desk, sighing as he rested his head in his hands. Then yelped as he felt the tingling and the burning begin.

He was becoming sensitive even to his own touch. The discomfort was not as severe as he had experienced that mornning, but it was there none the less. The pain finally disappated quickly, much to his relief.

Napoleon walked into their their stark office at that moment, surprised to find his partner there. Neither of them had made any attempt over the years to add any personal touches to their shared space as other agents had done.

It was just that, a space that they occupied to get their work done, or to just retreat from the outside world for a bit. He was surprsed that Illya had suddenly placed a framed photgraph of Elliott with Demya sittiing in her lap on his desk,

He had never known his partner to be sentimental; his old apartnment was completely void of any decor or trappings of any such nostalgic a nature. And there was only one photograph overtly displayed in the Kuryakin house, and that was a photograph of Illya holding his newborn son; obviously displayed for Elliott's benefit.

"What are you doing here this early?"

"Napoleon, I have decided to stay at guest quarters. Going home was not such a good idea as there was an incident with Demya this morning.

He accidentally came into contact with me and my pain spasm frightened him terribly. I cannot risk doing that to him again."

Illya neglected to tell his partner of his change in his condition, he wanted no one to know; thinking that Dennison would eventually have him committed if he were to find out.

Napoleon couldn't say anything to comfort his partner. What was there to say, when the man was little by little losing his family, his life. All the suffereing had gone through not so long ago, when Illya had nearly surrendered himself to death; he had accepted that he would never be with his family again. Now here it could be happening to him again; especially if his condition were deemed to be a permanent affliction. Now it was if Illya was becoming an enemy even to himself.

"I know it's not much, but if you need to talk remember I'm here for you."

Napoleon said,understanding Illya's need to have a picture of his family nearby.

"Thank you my friend, I appreciate that." he asnwered, " do you have any paperwork that needs completion? I need something to do until I can go to the lab tonight."

Napoleon looked at the stack of files lying on his desk. " Are you sure?" he said, pointing at them with a pang of guilt.

Illya eyed them then smiled. " What else is new, I should have known better."

Napoleon smiled, helping his partner sort through the folders. Answering Illya's questions where things were not clear; filling in the blanks were his hand writing had disintegrated while writing his notes.

"You would think after all these years I would be able to descipher your hand writing." Illya signed as he went to rub his eyes, then stopped himself.

"That's because it's in a secret code called chicken scratch." Solo smiled.

It took the Russian a moment longer than usual to catch on to his partner's joke, then he smiled.

They had been at it for several hours when Napoleon finally looked at the time. It's three o'clock" he said, " and I don't know about you but I could eat a horse. We worked right through lunch, how about something to eat?"

"Yes, I am hungry but I do not know if the commissary is such a good idea? Perhaps you could just bring back a sandwich for me?"

"Illya, at this time of day there'll hardly be anyone there."

"Napoleon hoped that doing something like simply eating lunch together as they always did would at least give Illya some sense of normality in his life that was right now, limited by so many constraints.

Illya still seemed hesitant to go. "No I do not think so."

"Come on, it'll do you good?" He said, sensing his partner's melancholy at being separated from his family.

Illya clicked his tongue, he was really hungry and given that he might be facing a life of solitude very different from what he had lived in the past he decided against his better judgement to go with his friend.

The two agents walked to the commissary with Napoleon careful to run point in front of Illya, keeping anyone from accidentally bumping into him.

There were only a half dozen people sitting scattered in the dining area.

Illya's friend Tillie* was there today and called to him. "Illya long time no see! How are you? I never seem to see you anymore?

She walked out from behind the counter to look at him. " You don't look so good, what's wrong? You've lost weight, what is that wife of yours not feeding you enough? You come see me and I'll make something special just for you...how about some of my pot roast?"

Tillie was speaking so quickly that he barely had a chance to get a word in.

"I am alright Tillie, just a bad cold. You know me always getting colds. Thank you for your concern." Illya lied calmly.

"Well I've got just the thing for you then, go sit down. I'll bring you both some of my chicken soup. I just made a fresh batch. that soiund good you two?

"Tillie, do you have any of your chicken salad sandwiches?" Illya smiled.

"Of course" she laughed.

"Go sit tovarisch," Napleon said, "I'll bring it over."

"Napoleon, I am not an invalid," he whispered.

"I know that, just go sit and don't give me a hard time please? You'll be safer waiting over there alright."

Illya walked to a table in the far corner of the room, away from any heavily traffic areas and most often the staff knew when any agents sat there; they were to be left alone.

Napoleon and Tillie arrived moments later with the food; Tillie placing a bowl of her soup in front of the Russian as he sat with his back to the corner.

"There you go baby, that'll make you feel better."

The partners sat in silence together as they ate, not for any particular reason other than they were both hungry.

Terry Tramell from the lab appeared out of no where, walking immediately over to Illya.

"Glad to see you back Illya," he said cheerfully. Then without warning he reached out squeezing the Russian on the shoulder. Illya fell from the chair, screaming in agony from the pain this time; worse than when Demya had touched him. He felt as though he was on completely on fire; sending sharp stabbing pains throughout his entire body. He began to shake violently as he lay helpless on the hard linoleum floor.

"Tillie call medical now!" Napoleon yelled to her. " Tramell, you idiot get away from him now!"

"I'm so sorry Mr. Solo." he said coldly, then disappeared past the others in the commissary who had come over to try and help.

"Stay away from him, everyone back!" Napoleon barked as he tried to shield his partner, knowing that he couldn't touch him as well.

The team from medical arrived, but not choice to grab the Russian to lift him onto the gurney, sending Illya into an even greater spasm of pain, so much so that he finally passed out.

* ref "The Thirty Seven Bridges Affair"


	9. Chapter 9

Napoleon left his partner sleeping in medical after spending the night at his bedside again; it seemed that the only peace brought to Illya was now at the end of a needle. Schneider had no choice but to give him an injection to knock him out; finally gettting the nearly crazed Russian under control.

He had seen his partner in pain before, bearing it with his usual stoicism and rarely acknowledging it except unless it was to an extreme. But what he'd witnessed Illya go though in the commissary was far beyond those extremes; he'd never see him like this as he was on the verge of hysteria.

Though a little less intense; it was very similar to Demya's outburst and that struck Napoleon as rather odd wondering if the boy had some prescient empathy with his father; but unlike the younger Kuryakin, he could not bring Illya down from his highly charged emotional state with a few words of Russian.

Nancy Walsh, or maybe it was her sister, promised that no one would be allowed near him, except for his wife. Right now he didn't care which Walsh sister it was as long as she kept her promise to him. He was feeling bit guilty, blaming himself for it all; if he hadn't convinced Illya to go to the commissary with him then none of this would have ever happened.

He at least had the forethought to make sure that Elliott was not made aware of this latest episode.

Why upset her when she couldn't even touch her husband to comfort him; Elliott had enough on her plate with having to be cut off from him. She was home with her son and that was the best place for her to be at the moment.

Napoleon disagreed vehemently with the psych department's assessment of his partner, so the last person he wanted to see was Dr. Dennison, but of course that was exactly who he ran right into as he headed towards the elevator.

"Don't say it to me Doc." he warned, raising his hand to the man.

The man ignored Napoleon's words and proceeded directly into his diatribe."You have to face the truth and let go of this delusion that your partner's condition is the result of another's actions. It is in his head. Period."

Napoleon tried ditching the man but Dennison followed him into the elevator, leaving him no choice but to take a defensive posture against his lecturings.

"Sorry , after what I saw tonight in the commissary; that was real pain and something was done to Illya to make him become this way!"

"Correct, he is feeling real pain in his head. Illya is the cause of his own dilemma, Napoelon, no one else is responsible. Your partner's psychosomatic pain is the culmination of years of mental, emotional and physical traumas that he's suffered over and over. The most recent incident in Russia I believe was the final trigger. His near death experience and then being snatched from it were just too much for him to bear."

"This pain is his mind's way of trying to drive people away from him because it was people who hurt him so much. It doesn't matter if they are friend or foe...people equal pain to his subconscious mind."

Napoleon listened, restraining himself; but all the while he could feel his temper rising. He very rarely lost it, but he was getting close to doing so this time was doing his best to keep it from happening.

"You section II agents all think you're invincible; but Illya is proof that you are not. And the sooner your partner realizes that and admits to the source of his conditon; the sooner he will begin to recover. If he does not, then he will in all likelihood remain in this state permanently."

"We'll have to send him to our asylum in up state New York to be cared form And even if he does accept that this pain is a fabrication of his mind; I'm afraid at this point Illya Kuryakin will never return to the field."

"He is too fragile and will not longer be able to handle it as he is suffering from post-traumatic stress. He still experieces nightmares about many incidents from the past but the gulag seems to be the most profound at present."

"He is going to need years of psycho-therapy for that alone. Your partner is a very ill man I'm afaid."

The elevator eased to a stop as the doors opened silently. Napoleon stepped out even though it wasn't his floor; as he needed to just get away from the man. He moved aside as one of the secretaries walked past him, getting into the elevator, standing near the doctor.

Napoleon deliberately held the doors open with his hand just for a moment, leaning in close to the psychiatrist.

"You know what _Doctor_, you can go _fuck_ yourself," he hissed, releasing the doors as they closed before the now angry Dr. Dennison could say another word.

He went to the section II conference room; using an outside line; he made a phone call, making arrangements to meet her at an Italian eatery on 46th Street.

"Only the best for her," he said to himself. He was going to get some answers. Napoleon went to the locker room, showered, shaved and put on fresh change of clothing that he always kept there.

He heading out of the building and as he removed his badge handing it to Wanda, he told her he was going to meet someone at Barbetta's near Mt. Sinai Hospital and would be back shortly.

A few minutes later the outside line at the reception desk rang. "This is the United Network Command for Law and enforcement, how may I direct your call?" Wanda said.

"Hi Wanda, it's Bella Graziani, could you connect me with Napoleon please?"

"Hello Miss Graziani, you just missed him...umm he said he was going to meet, well I guess he's going to meet you at Barbetta's right by there at the hospital?"

"Oh really? Alright, thank you." Bella didn't recall him telling her that, unless he was going to surprise her: Barbettas was one of the finest Italian restaurants in the city, leave it to Napoleon to pick only the best. She smiled, deciding to surprise him instead.

Wanda wondered after she hung up the phone if she had gotten Napoleon's message right then shrugged, not giving it any further thought.

Napoleon entered the elegantly appointed dining area, rich in the colors and decor of Piemonte region of Italy. The chairs were covered in embroidered brocade and every table had it's own candleabra. The walls a deep shade of mediterranean coral accented with rich golden trim. The darch wood work in the room was intricately carved in arabesque designs.

She sat at a table waiting for him and as soon as he approached she held out her hand to him for it to be caressed as he had so often done; but apparently not today.

"My we're being a little rude aren't we?"

"Not really, I just need to forego our usual _foreplay_ and get right down to business."

"Darling, a girl does like to be romanced before, well you what I mean?"

"Angelique, you did really take care of Karl Voelker?"

"Napoleon, would I lie to you? No, disregard that answer, of course I'd lie to you but in this case I did not. Voelker is dead."

'How?"

"Oh the poor man had a very unexpected meeting with a train, shall we say? I understand they had to pick him up in several pieces. They listed his death was listed as a suicide, very nicely done if I say so myself." she smiled.

Napoleon absorbed that bit of information for a second. "I have to ask you a question on a different subject matter and I'm hoping you'll be honest with me?"

The waiter arrived with a martini for her and a scotch on the rocks for him; Angelique after all, was very familiar with all his _preferences._

"Shall we have a toast then Napoleon before getting on to new business? Perhaps we should say, to the settling of debts?"

The two opposing agents raised their glasses taking a sip, never taking their eyes from each other.

"Alright Napoleon, let the games begin. Ask your silly little question."

"Did someone from T.H.R.U.S.H. grab Illya recently? Let's say, giving him some sort new drugs, experimental perhaps?"

She pulled a cigarette from her case, holding it out in expectation of Napoleon, always the gentleman, lighting it for her. But instead he swallowed his scotch.

"Napoleon, if you expect an anwer, then you have to play the game properly, you know better than that?"

He pulled out his cigarette lighter, obliging her as usual.

"Well?"

"Oh dear, you have no patience at all today." she pouted, "I see you're not going to be any fun at the moment. Perhaps a change of venue? We could just skip the main course and go straight to dessert?" she smiled at him as she pursed her lips seductively.

"No, I'm sorry but that is going to have to come to an end."

"Pourquoi pas ma chère_why my darling?"

"I asked my question first?" he smiled.

"Alright if you insist. But you actually asked two, so only one at a time dearest. No one has laid hand on that partner of yours I can assure you, so that I presume _kills_ two birds... no that saying won't do will it?" She casually flicked the ashes from her cigarette into a Capodimonte ashtray.

"Perhaps you should look closer to home, you can't always blame things on us you know? Your ememies can be nearer than you think, sometimes they're not always from without. We just dicovered one of our people had gone over to the Stasi."

"By the way, he ended up on the tracks with Voelker. How ironic as he was praised as a _hero_ for trying to save the man. Now I must ask, has something happened to that insipid little Russian of yours?"

"No no, that's a second question my dear Angelique,"he smiled, playing by her rules, "now the answer to your first question is that you and I will no longer be able to continue with our little assignations because..."

She gave him a rather strange look, interrupting him.

"Wait,you're not dying are you? These injection experiments things you mentioned weren't about you were they darling; better the Russian than you?;

"I'm touched at your concern." he smiled.

"Napoleon, even though our employers are diametrically opposed doesn't mean I haven't developed a sort of fondness for you?"

"No I'm fine, I assure you. You see, I'm...getting married."

"What?" she laughed out loud, "Napoleon Solo the great paramour, the Don Juan of the spy world is hanging up his libido for a marriage bed? She laughed again. "I don't believe it!"

"It's true, so here endeth our illicit affairs Anglique, it was fun while it lasted." He raised his glass to her. "I am a believer of fidelity in marriage."

She pouted, then took a sip of her martini as she extinguished her cigarette. "That I seriously doubt. You realize dearest Napoleon that we'll have to just go back to being ordinary enemies don't you?"

He took her hand in his, finally kissing it. "Angelique, nothing about you could ever be ordinary."

"Always the charmer, I will miss you I must say. Alors, Je crains que ce soit d'adieu? Quell honte_then I am afraid it is farewell. What a shame."

Angelique rose gracefully from her chair, "Perhaps, a farewell kiss, for old times sake." as she bent over, the flawless white skin of her cleavage offering him temptation one last time as she leaned into him, pressing her lips to his.

He returned the kiss with equal furvor, pulling her into his arms as he let his tongue explore her mouth one last time. She was no longer irresitable to him and he gently released her. "Not going to work," he whispered close to her ear, his lips barely touching it; giving her a taste of her own medicine as he knew that drove her crazy.

There was a loud gasp from someone in front of them. Napoleon turned his head, seeing Bella standing beside the table. She put her hand to her mouth, letting out a sob as she ran from the restaurant.

Napoleon pushed Angelique away from him, then rose quickly from his chair.

"Bella?"

"Oh is that the little woman? Hmm, perhaps no longer?"

He knocked his chair over as he took off after her.

"If it doesn't work out darling, you know where to find me!" Angelique laughed as she called to him.

He ran emerged from the restaurant to the sidewalk, catching Bella by the arm as she was about run into the street; pulling her back in time as she was nearly being hit by a city bus.

"Bella it's not what you think! Stop!" he pleaded with her.

She wrenched her arm free of his grip. "Leave me alone!"

"Bella please? Let me explain!"

She swung round, slapping him across the face as tears ran down her cheeks.

"Allotavatevi da m voi _Lotario__ get away from me you _Lothario_!" She pulled off her engagement ring, shoveing it into his hand. "Go back to your blond bimbo!"

She stormed across the street, disappering around the corner and out of sight.

Napoleon leaned back against a lamp post, holding the diamond ring in his hand staring at it for a few minutes, then finally shoving it in his pocket; he shaded his eyes with his hand as tears began to well up in his eyes. He had no idea what to do; he was the master strategist yet he felt utterly and completely lost.

Angelique walked up behind him, "Napoleon?'

"Go away."

"Napoleon, go after her. You're a smart man, you'll figure it out. And I'm ignoring for your sake darling, that she called me a blond bimbo. Adieu."

Then she walked away from him as well, vanishing among the many pedestrians moving along the busy sidewalk.

He got into his car and started driving not thinking about where he was going, then fifteen minutes later he found himself in front of the Kuryakin house, sitting in the car, staring again at the diamond ring, clutching it his hand.

Napoleon finally got out of the car, opening the wrought iron gate, he walked up the up the stairs slowly as his feet seemed like they were encased in cememt. He entered the vestibule, but just stood for a moment. But before he could ring the bell Elliott opened the door.

He looked terrible, and she immediately assumed it was because of Illya.

"Oh my God," she gasped, "please don't tell me he's dead, please no?"

He grabbed her by the arms. " No, it's not about him...it's about me."

"What's wrong?"

He opened his palm revealing the diamond ring to her.

"_No way_, what happened?"

Elliott lead him to a chair at the kitchen table.

"I arranged a rendezvous with Angelique Du Chien to see if I could find out if Thrush was behind Illya's condition. I told her I was getting married and couldn't, well you know, not be with her any more. Angelique kissed me good bye and I responded...it was just a kiss."

"I don't know how, but Bella was there in the restaurant and saw it. I went after her, but she wouldn't listen to me. She took off the ring and shoved it in my hand. Elliott, this can't be happening to me?"

Without another word, Elliott pulled a bottle of scotch from the kitchen cabinet, pouring him a double as she sat down beside him.

"Napoleon, have you ever really sat down and had a talk with Bella about the things, the kind of things we as agents have to do sometimes, you know like what ye do with Angelique?"

"No I never have. I've told her a little bit, but I never really wanted her to know the sordid side of our jobs."

"Ye should have told her. She had a right ta know what she was getting into? I know she knows what ye do for a living, but there's a lot more to it than that. There's the lies, deceptions, the secrets, killing and the sex...sometimes even I find it hard to tell what's real and what's not, and I'm an agent!"

"Napoleon she's not part of our world, but she needs ta know about it so she can decide if she still wants ta be. Are ye understanding me?"

He swallowed a large gulp of the burning liquid. "You're right, I should have been more open with her. I don't think she'll even see me to let me try to talk to her now? If her family finds out; I won't be allowed within a hundred feet of her. Hell, Waverly could have my head over this?"

"Napoleon, I'll go see her for ye. Bella and I we get along quite well and besides it might be better if she hears some things from a woman's point of view?"

"Thank you Elliott, you're amazing you know that?"

"So my husband tells me all the time, speaking of which how is he today? How's he making out in the lab, any headway?"

"No, I'm afraid not. Listen," he hesitated to tell her, "there was another incident, came into contact with him when we went to eat in the commissary last night. Ellie, it was pretty awful. I've never seen him like that in all the years I've known him. I've seen him scream in pain, but not like that. They have him back in medical right now under sedation. Dennisons completely convinced that the pain is all in Illya's head and can't convince Illya otherwise. It's a battle of wills and I think for once Illya is going to lose."

"That's a load of cow manure coming from Dennison and ye know it."

"If I don't find out who did this to him and how, then he's going to forcibly retire him and send him upstate to the asylum."

"Over my dead body, that foul git's not taking my Illya away, U.N.C.L.E. or no!"


	10. Chapter 10

Elliott appeared at the hospital, ready to confront Bella, though she wasn't quite sure what she was going to say to convince her to understand and forgive what had happened between Napoleon and Angelique.

She knew that Bella needed to have some ground rules; it was only fair. That was the only way she should make such her decision and not fly off the handle, breaking it off with Napoleon.

Elliott knew well enough about those sort of things; becoming so enraged as to lose one's self control. She was all to guilty of it herself and had suffered the consequences because of her foolishness over the years. She had gotten that part of her temper fairly under control now, though there were some times it still got the better of her.

She walked up to the nurses station in restricted ICU that was reserved for high secuity risk patients such as political figures, members of the U.N. and U.N.C.L.E agents. It was where the thee of them had first met; she and Napoleon recuperating under the care of Nurse Graziani.*

Elliott had flashed her U.N.C.L.E. ID saying she was on official business, giving her instant access a she walked through the security entrance, heading towards the nurses station.

Bella looked up from the desk, looking equally as terrible as Napoleon had when he appeared at the front door that morning.

"How did you get in here?she asked, then realizing that was a silly question, she tried to be polite. "How's your husband doing?"

"Not good, look Bella is there some place where we can talk privately?"

"Sure, we can go in the nurses lounge."

"Tea?" she offered as Elliott sat down in one of comfotable chairs scattered around the room. The table was filled with magazines, Woman's Day, House and Garden and other such things that she was uninterested in.

"Thanks, yes please that would be grand" Elliott wasted no time getting to the point.

"Bella I know what happened between you and Napoleon."

"He didn't waste time did he and I mean that on several levels."

"No, ye are mistaken. Ye don't know what was going on there."

"What I saw was enough. If his tongue was any deeper down her throat it would have come out the other end."

"Ew, Bella!"

"Hey you weren't there."

"Ye wouldn't give him a chance to explain."

"Why should I? It didn't look like it was exactly a chance encounter, just how long has this been going on, do you know?"

"That woman is a TH.R.U.S.H. agent, one that Napoleon uses as a contact. She is a friendly foe, so to speak."

"Yeah, I saw just how friendly."

"He was trying to find out if it was Thrush who hurt Illya. Granted she and Napleon have a history but Bella, he was breaking it off with her. She asked for a good bye kiss and tried one last time to seduce him, that's what you walked in on."

"He sure looked like he wasn't putting up much of a fight?"

"In spite of what you think, that wasn't the case. There are things that ye need to understand about the business that we're in. It's all about getting the job done, sometimes by any means. We use any sort of tool to manage it.'

"Sex is a very potent weapon to use against an adversary and sometimes it becomes necessary. Ye don't understand the lunacy that we are up against out there. The world would be in absolute panic if even a quarter of the plans we've foiled came to light. We do what we must to help keep the world safe."

"But I have to tell you that in the midst of all of this insanity Napoleon has remained completely faithful to you and for him that's saying a lot."

"Really?'

"Absolutely, and I am telling ye the Gods honest truth, even though I know ye are aware that lying is also a big tool of our trade."

"You mean to tell me that you've slept with..."

"Yes and so has Illya, not that we don't try to avoid it, but sometimes it's been inescapable."

"My God how can you live like that?"

"Bella we love each other, when we're together it's making love, having that perfect, intimate connection between two human beings. We become lost in each other. That's love not sex."

"When sex becomes necessary on a mission is used meerly a tool and nothing more. We don't talk about it and it's better left as a secret. It's all about keeping our lies, our dirty deeds from hurting each other. We shut that reality out of our world and as long as we're together, we know it'll be alright."

"Our love for each other is our safe haven from it all. When Illya and I first got together we tried being completely honest with each other, simply because our work was so full of falsehoods and lies, but we eventually discovered we couldn't do that. So some secrets have to be kept. We both understand that now. And we live with it."

"Bella at least give Napoleon a chance to talk to you? His job with U.N.C.L.E. has been his life, it's a self imposed one of loneliness for him and then ye came along and made him come up for air. Ye were a breath of fresh air to a man who was suffocating. Don't do this to him? Give him a chance? He loves you so much. Ye are his safe haven, don't leave him alone out in the cold?

Bella sat quietly listening to Elliott, all the while seeing Napoleon's face, his smile and remembering all the words and promises he had whispered to her.

He told her it wouldn't be an easy life with him. She knew there would be lies and deception all around them but when he was with her that faded away. He was being completely honest with her about it. Tears fell down Bella's cheeks as she realized she still loved him, but she still wasn't sure that that was enough. She asked herself if she had the courage to live this sort of life.

"Alright Elliott, I'll talk to him. I promise." she looked at her watch, " I have to go, the doctors are going to start their rounds." Thank you for being such a good friend to both of us." she reached out giving Elliott a hug and a kiss, then whispered, " I'm keeping Illya in my prayers."

Elliott left for headquarters; satisfied that she had gotten through to Bella, at least enough for Napoleon to have a chance to talk to her. She only hoped what she had said would help rekindle what was in Bella to stand by Napoleon and not desert him What happened next would have to be between the two of them.

She made her way up to the medical wing, going straight past the station as Nurse Walsh just nodded to her. "Nothing to say?" she thought, "perhaps that was good news, until Max Schneider stopped her."

"Elliott we need to talk first."

She shrugged, preparing herself for the next round of bad news.

"He had a very bad episode last night."

"I know Napoleon told me."

"Well unfortunately what he and you both do not know is that Illya is now having difficulty tollerating physical contact with his own body. He is not in a very good place, mentally that is, his temper and anger levels have risen dramatically and given his frustration; I don't blame him."

"Oh, Jay-sus." she hissed." I know that Dennison is insisting that this is all in Illya's head, but I just can't believe it. How could Illya have a psychosomatic illness that now pits him against himself, it doesn't make sense?"

"Elliott until I can find something else, a physical cause; I have to resign myself to his diagnosis. But let me reassure you, I am not giving up on him. I have the lab working overtime analyzing what was injected into his system. The answer has to lie there. Just keep your visit brief please, he needs to remain calm, I really don't want to have to give him another sedative."

"Thanks for not giving up on him Max."

Elliott stuck her head through the door to her husbands room. He was awake, staring at the ceiling, looking very drawn and unhappy.

"Illuysha lyubov' moy_my beloved," she whispered her private greeting to him, but he said nothing in response.

"I just heard about last night, are ye alright?" She said, noticing that his wrists were bound in restraints; his fingers were spread as he obviously was holding them ridgedly apart. She could see his legs were spread eagle under the blanket and assumed that his ankles were in restraints as well. There was a catheter running from beneath the bed coverings.

"Of course I am not alright," he snapped at her, " I suppose all of headquarters knows of my affliction now. I can just hear them now...the poor Russian. I will _not_ be pitied!" he growled.

"No one is pitying you. Stop being so concerned about that and besides wasn't it ye who told me not to worry about what others say?"

She watched as tears began to well up in his eyes.

"Illya what can I do?"

"You have to leave me alone." he said coldly.

Elliott was confused by that statment. "What do ye mean? I'm yer wife, I can't leave ye alone?"

She leaned over his face as the tears began to trickle down his cheeks, holding her hand close to him, wishing she could wipe his them away.

"Illya I _love_ you, please don't say that." she whispered.

He moaned, then raised his voice, stuttering as he spoke. "Well I can no longer... no, I no longer love you."

Elliott stared at him in disbelief. "What?"

"I need you to get away from me! I cannot deal with this and you being around. You must stay away from me from now on, that is the way it must be." he paused for a moment, gathering himself for what he had to say," I no longer wish to see you. It is _over_."

Elliott raised her hand to her brow as she began to cry as well." Yer talking crazy! What's wrong with ye?"

"You said it yourself, I am crazy! Do as I say! I do not _want_ you any more, do you not understand me? You are nothing but an encumberence to me now. I do not want you hovering over me! Go away."

"But Illya?"

"Are you deaf? Poluchit' yebut ot menya_get the fuck away from me!" he hissed angrily at her.

"Illya please don't talk like that?" she gasped."How can ye just push me away like this, like I'm nothing?

"It is over between us!" He was yelling at her now." You are _nothing_ to me now!" Vy kurivat_understand?"

"Adstoj_bullshit! " Her sorrow changed to anger." Ye can't do this to me! Jay-sus, what about yer son? Ye have no right to..."

"He is better off without me." he said icily.

"Ye cold-hearted bastard! How can ye abandon us like this! We're yer family fer God's sake?"

"I have lived without a family before! Bljapaslifsjenahujmudak! (expression of extreme anger) Have you suddenly become that..ty mne Vanku ne valjay_do not make yourself more stupid than you are."

"Get the _fuck_ out now!" he screamed at her. "Get out!" He repeated over and over again as he sobbed; the pitch of his voice rising to near hysteria again. Then he started to laugh. Looking very much like a madman, sobbing and laughing at the same time.

"Vy pizdu_fuck you to hell!" Elliott screamed back at him.

Max Schneider ran past her with the nurse immediately following after him, armed with a syringe; quickly injecting it into the Russian's arm. The mild sedative calming him within minutes.

She didn't wait to speak to Schneider as she retreated past him, running to the elevator, seeking escape from this insantiy.

Illya Kuryakin felt only anguish at what he had just done to his wife, he had lied to the woman he adored, treating her cruelly, but he knew that it was necessary. She was stubborn, perhaps more stubborn than he and he realized it would take something extreme to drive her away from him.

He could not be a burden to her; he could no longer be a father to his child, so that settled it in his mind. He could not tolerate the thought of his son seeing him like this; the fear and terror in Demya's eyes were too much for him to risk inflicting that upon the boy again. To be around Elliott and not being able to touch her ever again nor be touched by her was unbearable. His condition was probably permanent; that was what Dennison had told him. He had no choice now but to drive her away.

It was better that she did not have him in her life any longer. He had no other answers at this point; to him the pain was very real, though Dennison would convince him otherwise but he just could not accept that reality.

He could not lie to himself, saying what the man wanted him to hear.

How could a lie help the pain to go away?

No, his life would be one of solitude again, being alone more than he had ever been in his entire life. It was best for all of them. He knew Elliott would survive, she was strong and she would raise Demya to be a good man, that he was sure of.

Elliott walked straight into Napoleon as she stepped in a daze from the elevator and he saw immediately that her face was red and tear-stained.

"What happened? He asked, pulling her back into the elevator, flipping the emergecy stop switch.

"She fell into his arms sobbing and he just held her, stroking her long red hair with his hand, afraid to ask if Illya were still alive.

"Napoleon, he sent me away." Her voice was small, lacking her ususal strength and vitality.

"What do you mean he sent you away?"

"He told me he didn't want me anymore, that he didn't need me adding to his burden. How could he do that to me? Why would he turned against me...maybe he really is losing his mind? Maybe Dennison is right?"

'No, Ellie I don't believe that. Do you want me to talk to him to find out where this is coming from?"

She stepped back away from him. "No, don't do that! Leave him be!" Though hurting, Elliott steeled her jaw.

"Why?"

"Potomusta_because! That's why, just leave off Napoleon!"

He pulled out his handkerchief, using it tenderly to wipe her face before he handed to her.

"Thanks, I'll be alright, I have to accept this, he...he always had a way of turning off his emotions, now he's done it with me too. Her s nim_to hell with him!

She took a deep breath, gathering herself, then forced a little smile.

"I spoke to Bella, she said she'd be williing to talk to ye. That's good isn't it?"

He sighed, happy at that news but still empathetic to what Elliott was now going through. Napoleon reached out, pulling her to him in another comforting hug, not just for her but for himself. "thank you Ellie," he whispered to her. " It'll be alright honey."

"No it won't Napoleon. I have to accept that."

She did't say it to him, but she knew once Illya had made up his mind to something, that was it. He was heartless to her, showing his cold-bloodednes in the way he spoke to her and now that realization was making her anger grow more in the pit of her stomach.

He flipped the switch, turning the elevator back on, letting go of his grip on Elliott as the doors opened. She walked out, not looking back as other personnel joined him. Napoleon stared out at her as the doors closed quietly on the image of her slowly walking away.

"Hey Solo, you care to join in a poker game tonight with Security? We need a ringer to help us win back what they took us for last month."

Napoleon didn't heard the invitation as he was too busy thinking that Illya's life and marriage were falling apart and he wasn't doing a damn thing to help stop it. But that was about to change.


	11. Chapter 11

The next morning Illya was given a wheel chair ride to his room in guest quarters; Schneider saw no need to keep him confined to a bed in medical as it was upsetting the Russian more than helping him. He'd given him some mild tranquilzers to take, but of course Illya flushed them down the toilet as soon as he was alone.

For some reason though, there was now a guard outside of his door and he assumed it was to babysit him, since Dennison was not happy at his being released, allowing him light duty.

He planned to stay confined in his quarters until after midnight then go down to the lab and work through the early morning hours when no one would be there, thus avoiding contact with anyone in the corridors and the lab itself as headquarters was minimally staffed then, if not empty.

In spite of Dennisons pronouncement about his condition; Illya would not give up trying to investigate the substance that had been injected into him. He had to do at least that, he was still a scientist and needed proof that it was not the cause of his affliction. But if it was indeed was and not related,and that his condition was permanent; then he would accept his fate.

Working in the lab would at least free him from any pitying eyes; in spite of Elliott's chastisement, he still detested it. In this case he could not take his own advise to ignore what people thought, his stubborn Russian pride would not permit it.

There was a knock at his door and he responded, calling out with annoyance in his voice.

"_Go_ away!"

"Illya it's me, Tillie. I have fooood." she called cheerfully.

He was not really hungry but let her bring it in anyway, she was a genuinely kind woman and her actions were truly one of caring.

"Alright, you can come in." He stood at the other side of the room, putting plenty of distance between the two of them.

"Hi honey," she smiled," I have chicken cordon bleu, asparagus, scalloped potatoes, salad and two slices of apple pie. Oh yes, and a nice pot of hot tea, and I didn't forget the rasberry jam."

"Thank you Tillie," he smiled, "this looks delicious, you know me very well do you not?"

"Oh yeah, I know you alright. What's lunch for you is dinner for someone else and then some." she laughed. "Illya, look I'm so sorry about yesterday...I "

"Stop, please do not go there."

She swallowed hard, reminding herself of her Russian friends stubborn ways.

"How are Elliott and Demya handling it all?"

"It is better for all concerned that I distance myself fom them."

There was that coldness in his voice that she could never get used to but she couldn't help but challenge him.

"Illya, you should be with your family when there's trouble."

He shook his head sadly. "Not this time. Thank you for bringing my food Tillie, now if you don't mind; I would like to be alone?"

"Illya?"

"Tillie, please?"

She left quietly, not saying another word to upset him as she could hear a hint of strain in his voice.

"He tried eating but had little appetite, though he at least poured some tea for himself, looking for his cigarettes, when remembered with irritation that Max Schneider had confiscated his cigarettes and really now he really wanted... no, needed one at the moment.

His nightmares were continuing, making him lose sleep, the stress and the pain were all taking their tolls, so a cigarette would be good for his nerves as he thought about what sort of existence was in store for him.

The loneliness that he faced would be the worst of it, even though he had been accustomed to it all of his life, this was a different kind from his self-imposed solitude of old, and the thought of it was frightening. He would be doomed to a life of an _odinachka__a solitary man. His life would be a form of solitary confinement...

Illya nearly ended up being odinochka in the gulag, and very close to being a dead one; though he at least had the satisfaction of knowing that his tormentor, Viktor Karkoff was now suffering that fate.

Tillie was right about being with family in times of trouble, but these were not ordinary circumstances. He did not regret what he had done to Elliott, though it hurt him to see the pain he had caused her, but that was the only way he could get her to do what he wished. He knew he could manipulate her into losing her temper and become angry at him, enough to walk away as he had demanded of her. He felt guilty for having hurt her so deliberately, but it was his only recourse.

He lay on the bed, tapping his head back against the headboard, realizing that he was feeling sorry for himself.

"No!" he said out loud, " I will not do this, I will not pity myself! He decided to go down to his office to get the pack of cigarettes that he had left in his desk drawer.

Illya opened the door to his room but before he could step one foot out of it; the guard stopped him.

"I'm sorry Mr. Kuryakin, you have to stay in your room sir."

"What do you mean I have to stay? I am not a prisoner."

"My orders are for you to say here sir."

"Who gave you these orders? "he demanded.

"I'm not at liberty to say."

Normally Illya would have just ignored the man, walked out and then when the guard attempted to prevent him from leaving; he would simply take him down. But he couldn't even do that now, if he laid one hand on the man he would hit the floor in pain before the guard would.

"Got a cigarette then?" he asked soberly.

"Sorry sir, I don't smoke."

"Fubliya. Protlyatuyu basran yeblya blaydin syn_ aw fuck. Illya cursed, calling him some choice words but specifically a useless son of a whore as he slammed the door closed.

Napoleon Solo walked unannounced into Alexander Waverly's conference room to propose a plan to save his partner.

"Mr. Solo, how may I ask are things going with Mr. Kuryakin, I heard he had a particularly difficult time in the commissary last night."

"Not good sir as I'm sure Drs. Schneider and Dennison have informed you. Mr. Kuryakin has gone into a self-imposed exile of sorts between guest quarters and his lab. He's determined to decipher that compound found in his blood.

"Yes but at what cost Mr. Solo?"

Napoleon neglected to tell his boss about the marital problems that might be developing between the Kuryakins but now he wondered if the Old Man already knew?"

"It's a dreadful situation for all concerned and needless to say I am not happy about losing one of my best agents." Waverly held up a folder." I have here the medical and psycological reports on your partner, but you Mr. Solo, you know him better than anyone with the exception of his wife. Do you feel that Mr. Kuryakin is in any way becoming unstable?"

"No sir, not at present."

"I know to temper that answer a bit, since you two are friends as well as partners but you say at present? Does that mean you think he could become a problem?"

"Sir, "Napoleon said reluctantly, "it's only a matter of time before the isolation and the pain take their toll on him; a human being can only endure so much."

Waverly took his familiar pipe from his mouth, placing it down in the large ashtray in front of him, then flipped open the folder, looking at a particular document.

"Dr. Dennison has recommended that Mr. Kuryakin be committed to the state asylum in Buffalo. Your thoughts on this?"

"Dr. Dennison, with all due respect is full of it. I do not for one minute believe that Illya Kuryakin needs to be committed. What I do believe is that someone here at headquarters had orchestrated this attack against him. That person has been in the background, watching him suffer somehow, as to why I do not know.

'And what proof have you of this Mr. Solo?"

"None sir, just call it a gut instinct. I am convinced that Illya has an enemy within headquarters and perhaps he or she is waiting for an opportunity to make a move on him when he is at his weakest."

"Mr. Solo, honestly a conspiracy theory? My God man, I think you are grasping at straws to save your partner."

"Why would someone have injected him with this mystery compound then dumped him on our doorstep; then Illya develops this affliction that he cannot be touched by another human being, with his suffering worsening day by day. I really think this may be a matter of revenge and the culprit is watching and waiting."

"There has been ample opportunity for someone to strike against Mr. Kuryakin if your theory were indeed valid, so then why hasn't it happened?"

"That's because who ever it is knows they'll be seen on our security system. I think his tormentor would come forward to finish what has been started given an opportunity. I took the liberty of posting guard Mr. Kuryakin, not leaving anything to chance. I'd rather we control the time and the place for the endgame.

"Hmm?" Waverly tucked his pipe back into his mouth, relighting it with a match.

"Alright Mr. Solo, tell me of this plan of yours and I will think about it. Irregardless, I must tell you that arrangements have already been made to ship Mr. Kuryakin to Buffalo."

"Sir, I'd like to talk to you about that."Napoleon nodded.

"You suspect anyone associated with Agent Anderson?"

"I have no one specific in mind at the moment sir, but I would have to say that would be my logical choice on the other hand, nothing about this seems logical right now. If my plan works then we'll be able to flush the person or persons responsible out into the open."

Elliott remained at home with her son, not really paying him any mind as he played quietly with his tinker toys on the living room floor.

She was hurt, angry and confused at what Illya had done to her and it was so out of character for him that she began to think that the psychiatrist that she had despised not but a day ago might actually be right about her husband.

She was pulled away from her thoughts by Demya who had suddenly smashed the construction he had created with the small pegs and wheels, sending pieces of it flying accross the room and knocking the photgraph of he and his father flying off the table.

"Demya! Chto s toboy_what is wrong with you!

Then she stopped herself. "No, no more Russian," she told herself. "why remind the child of his father." A father that didn't want his son any more and woudn't be coming home.

"Demya...Damien," she suddenly said her son's name in English. If Illya was cutting off his son, then she would cut Dem..Damien off from his father. It was probably for the best anyway.

"What are ye doing? What are ye on about?"

The boy sat stiff-lipped on the floor with his arms crossed in front of his chest, looking exactly like his father.

"Stop that! Uncross yer arms right now boy-o and wipe that look off yer face."

"No,"he answered her timidly.

"What's wrong, ye tell me now?"

"No!" This time he raised his voice to his mother.

"Don't ye talk to me like that! Now ye answer me!"

"I want my papa!"

"Yer papa's...he, he's not coming home."

"I want my papa, NOW!" he screamed at his mother.

Elliott got up from the sofa in an instant, grabbing Demya by the arm, lifting him to his feet and gave him a swat on his bottom.

"Don't ye ever talk to me like that!"

Demya's lower lip began to quiver, but he didn't cry. He had never been hit before.

"Now ye go up to yer room and ye stay there! Ye'll not be fresh to yer mother!"

Then his little fists balled up, bringing them to his eyes as he finally began to cry. "Where's my papa? I want my papa!"

"Well yer papa doesn't...he doesn't want us anymore." she sobbed as she grabbed her son, pulling him into her arms.

"Mama's sorry she hit you Demmy, I'm so sorry!"

Demya was wailing now and there was no consoling him.

His mother picked him up, cradling him in her arms, rocking him until his plaintive cries subsided to a barely audible whimper.

Elliott carried her trembling son upstairs, changing his clothes then put him to bed. She knelt beside him, rubbing his back softely, with the tenderness that only a mother could have; trying to soothe him until he fell to sleep.

She had never hit her son before and that emotional outburst frightened her, making her vow to never do it again.

Elliott went back down to the kitchen, taking the bottle of scotch reserved for Napoleon with her to the living room; passing on the bottle of Stolchinaya that was in the freezer.

She wanted nothing to do with anything Russian right now as she poured herself a shot from the bottle, downed it then another. Making a face as she swallowed each glassful; she was never a fan of scotch but right now it would do.

She looked across the room at the photograph of Illya and Demmy, still on the floor. She stood up impulsively, grabbing it and tossing it into the fire. Then took a swig from the bottle, instead of pouring another glass for herself.

"God damn you Illya Kuryakin!" she growled as she lifted the bottle to her lips again.

She was startled from her sleep by the sound of a loud crash coming from the kitchen; she was up in an instant with her Walther drawn in front of her instinctively, as she also grabbed the top of her head cradling a massive headache.

It was daylight now as she eyed the half-empty bottle on the coffee table; then moved silently towards the kitchen.

She stepped around the corner, aiming at the intruder, but then hid it quickly behind the weapon behind her back before her son spotted it in her hand.

He was sitting in the middle of the floor with Cheerios scattered all around him; Boris helping herself to the cereal that has ecaped the boy's small hand as he dug into the box, pulling fistfuls out and shoving them into his mouth.

"Aw Jay-sus Demmy what have ye done?"

"I was hungry mama and you wouldn't wake up."

She looked at the kitchen clock on the wall, seeing that it was nearly ten in the morning.

"Mama's sorry Demmy, she wasn't feeling well. I'll make ye nice breakfast alright?" She took the box of cereal from him, then quickly swept up the mess from the floor, handing her son a banana to nibble on while she made his toast and eggs.

The telephone rang, sending the pressure in her head over the top, making it feel like it was about to explode.

"Ugh" she moaned as she picked up the receiver. "Hallo," she answered sharply.

"Ellie, you alright/"

"I will be once I get yer damn scotch out my system...never mind. What can I do for ye Napoleon?" She was very short with him.

"I thought you should know...they're taking Illya to Bufffalo today. I think you need to get down here."

"No, I don't think so. He wants to be left alone and I'll not be chansing after a man who doesn't want me. Rejection can work both ways ye know?"

She felt like such a hypocrite after all she said about she and Illya's love for each other to Bella. It was all a lie; what an appropriate end to a marriage based in a world of nothing but lies and deceit.

"Perhaps now was the time to consider leaving U.N.C.L.E. behind, she could do without the memories." she thought.

"Elliott are you still there?

"I'm here."

"Don't be like this?" Napoleon asked.

"Please, just drop the matter. It's as he wishes. It's over, agus sin é_and that's it," she said with a finality to her voice as she added a few words in Irish, saying it in the traditional way to make an end of it.


	12. Chapter 12

"No!" Illya objected, "You must let me go to my lab. I can do this, I can find out what was done to me!"

"Illya, I'm sorry. It's out of my hands now," Max said." Waverly has signed the order to move you to our wing at Buffalo.

As life in an insane asylum stared him in the face, Illya realized he wasn't ready for it after all. "Max, do not do this to me please?" he pleaded." I will do what ever Dennison wants me to do, say what ever he wants me to say. Please do not condemn me to this. Please! I am not crazy!"

"Illya I know that." Max Schneider injected Illya again with a sedative for the nearly eight hour drive, then turned away shaking his head in sadness. He wasn't happy with it at all. "Illya, I promise you that I will keep the labs working on this. We'll find the answer and we'll get you out."

Kuryakin gave no answer as his head now lolled over; the drug already putting him into a stupor.

A few of the medical and lab staff watched silently as the gurney carrying the Russian rolled past them.

"Wow, one of U.N.C.L.E's best going out begging," said Terrry Tramell.

"Yeah, real shame," said Nurse Walsh.

"Which one are you?" Terry asked.

"I'll never tell," she smiled then called an orderly to clean the room that the former section II agent had vacated.

The ambulance arrived just after six in the evening, as Illya Kuryakin was carried via stretcher to his private room. U.N.C.L.E. maintained an entire secure wing at the New York facility, sending their less fortunate people there, there who could no longer cope with the pressures of life as an agent, those who were driven to near insanity by their run-ins with Thrush drugs or mad scientists.

They handed over Illya's files to the physician in charge, giving strict instructions that Kuryakin was not to have any physical human contact, ever. The orderly nodding his head in acknowledgement, as he helped to carefully tuck the seemingly helpless blond into his bed.

When they were alone, he reached into his pocket taking out a syringe and after carefully rolling up the Russian's sleeve; he injected the contents into Illya's arm as he had been. Then left him alone.

The next day Illya was acting listless as he was taken out to just get some fresh air; walking the grounds. But then as the days passed he felt himself becoming drained of all his enegy, letting the staff know of his weakness. He could no longer manaage his walks and was simply just put into wheel chair to sit in the sun by himself, with no one still bothering him.

As the next few days flowed one into another, he declined even that activity; choosing just to stay in his room. His only companions were books the few books that he chose from the library in the facility.

Even that quickly wore thin on him and he finally remained in bed all day and each night he was strapped in with restraints lest he accidentally touch himself during the night. That was when it was the worst; being alone at night and helpless.

Napoleon was his only visitor; his friend tried to bring him news of his family, but Illya would have none of it; ignoring his partner's pleas for him to speak to Elliott.

"Napoleon, I am tired of this masquerade, if someone were going to try something, they should have done it by now."

"Patience my man, patience."

"Is in short supply my friend." Illya sighed.

Max Schneider walked into the Russian's room with a smile on his face.

"Illya it's ready." he winked knowingly at Solo.

"This better work Max," Napoleon said.

"I'm just not sure how long it will take to kick in or how long it will last for that matter."

"Excuse me?"Illya said, "My calculations were precise.

"Look," said Max, "the lab developed this in a hurry, let's just hope your calculations were right."

The Russian looked somewhat indignant at the physician's remark.

"It will deaden my pain receptors, that I am certain of; I will no longer feel anything. But at least I will not be helpless in the event this mystery person makes a move against me."

"Illya remember, you won't feel anything for better or worse, your entire body will be numb," added Schneider," if you cut yourself, you won't sense it. You have to be careful."

"I assure you I am well aware of that and will take the utmost care."

Illya winced several times as Schneider proceeded to inject him. After this being done to him so many times over the past few weeks the shots were becoming more than annoying; he was beginning to dread them. If this didn't work; he would have a lfetime of such pokings to look forward to...that thought made him cringe.

"Tovarisch, we won't be far." Napoleon winked.

As soon as they left his room Illya very gingerly touched his right thumb and pinky sending a jolt of burning pain shooting up his arm. He stifled himself, not wanting to cry out.

"Chyort_shit" he muttered." this should work, his computations could not have been wrong."

A short while later the door to his room opened and an orderly walked into a pushing a wheel chair in front of him. Illya looked up, recogizing him instantly.

"You!" Illya said, lunging at him, but as he grabbed the man, the pain hit him like here were being burned at the stake, it was thought flames now engulfed his entire body, making him collapse to the floor.

He gasped for breath; cursing to himself that the injections hadn't worked, as the man covered his mouth with a cloth drenched in chloroform; knocking him out.

He dragged the unconscious Russian into the wheel chair, propping him up and covering him with a blanket, rolling him out of the room and quickly past the nurses's station.

"Excuse me," said the duty nurse, "where are you going with him?"

"Mr. Kuryakin has an appointment with the doctor,"

"Well no one told me?" she said.

'Sorry. I dunno, I'm new here. Was I supposed to tell you?" he smiled at her innocently.

'New huh? she smiled, "You're kind of cute. I get off at six, care to meet me for a drink?"

"How about tomorrow, I already have _plans_ for tonight." He leaned over looking at her name badge. "Delia." he said winking at her. Then he began to move the wheelchair away.

"Say what's your name handsome?"

"It's Terry, see you later." Then he disappeared around the corner out of view, taking Illya to the elevator.

He pressed the button for the lower level, where the most dangerous patients were kept when problems arose. The _special_ rooms as the staff referred to those accommodations were in the basement.

The attendant on duty looked suspiciously at Illya as he was still out cold in the wheelchair.

"What's his deal?"

"He's schizo, " said the orderly, " the doctors tranquilzed him then sent him down here for a padded room so he doesn't hurt himself, or anyone else for that matter."

"Poor bugger, he looks kinda small. Doesn't look like he could hurt a fly, then I suppose they all look like that when they're tranqulized," he laughed.

The attendant handed him a key. "Here, you can put him in room 13. He'll be the only tenant down here besides the guy in number 8. That poor bastard went off his rocker after he was exposed to some kind of Mind Control drug.

Kuryakin was wheeled to the door of the room, then unceremoniously pulled from the chair to the padded floor. Then his pajamas were removed, leaving him lying naked as his hands were bound behind his back.

Terry slapped Illya on the face until he woke with a start, finding himself in his state of undress.

"Tramell, it was you? Why?"

"I was tired of your rebuffs. You'd never gave me a moments notice or respect. But I knew there was still something between us?"

"What? I never did any such thing to you. We have hardly ever spoken?"

"I saw the look of disdain in your eyes. I felt the icy coldness of your looks and it made me feel so alone. And that's what you felt now all this time. Now you know how you made me feel! But soon now we can be together."

"Terry, you need help. This is not right what you are doing. Stop now before it goes any further."

Tramell knelt down, forcing is lips against the Russians'. Illya jerked his head away reflexively, then realized he felt no pain, there was nothing. His formula had finally kicked in.

Tramell pulled two syringes from his pocket, injecting one after the other into Illya's neck.

"What was that?" he demanded.

"You'll see soon enough. FIrst I gave you pain and now will come the pleasure."

Tramell reached out, running his hands along the Russian's body.

"Your poor skin, there's so many scars..."

Illya could only watch as Tramells hands drifted lower and lower.

"Do not touch me!" Illya moaned, his mind flashed back in panic, thinking of his abuse at the hands of Voelker and then Lazar' in the gulag. He could not believe it was going to happen to him again.

But then something else began to happen, Illya suddenly found himself becoming aroused. He was experiencing pleasure in his mind though his body felt numb. He concluded that it must be from the drugs that had Tramell injected in his neck.

He groaned fighting against the feeling of euphoria that was filling him, but couldn't resist it as the man began to kiss his throat.

"What have you done to me!" he growled as he gritted his teeth, then Illya gasped as Tramell began to fondle him, his body responding involuntarily with an erection.

"Nooo" he moaned hoarsely, not again." he pleaded at first, fighting against the pleasue and intense desire that now filled him.

Then Illya whispered almost seductively, "Not like this, untie my hands please? I will give you what you want Terry.

"Nice try, but no." Tramell's mouth was on him. "I said NO!" Illya now bellowed angrily at him."_Not _again!"

He kicked up with his leg, kneeing the man in the head. Then as it snapped back, the Russian kicked his legs up and around, getting him in a scissor lock, flipping him to the floor. Illya released the stunned Tramell as he he struggled to his feet, kicking him in the head again and again until he was unconscious. Then Illya dropped to his knees before he fell backwards to the floor.

Napoleon and Max Schneider burst into the room; Napoleon heading straight to his partner, grabbing hold of Illya cradling him in his arms as he untied his wrists.

"It's over tovarisch." he said stroking the mess of blond hair.

"Napoleon, let got of me. Please do not touch me."

He released him instantly, " pain?"

"No, but Tramell injected me with something else and I am afraid a rather embarrassing situation has _arisen_? "

Napoleon stole a quick glance. "Ugh gotcha. Max can you toss me a blanket please?"

Schneider returned a few moments later with a hosptal gown, helping Illya to dress, covering his lap with the blanket; then upon Schneider's insistance he got into the wheel chair.

"Wait a minute?" Max said as he looked down at Illya's right foot. He knelt, examining it more closely. It was swollen and some of his toes were discoloring.

"I think you've got some broken toes." he said touching them gently.

"feel that?"

"No, not a thing."

"I told you to be careful." Schneider said.

"Max, I was not exactly in a postion to stop and think about it...and where were you two by the way. He was able to get me out of my room and down here way too easily."

"Yeah, tell me about," Napoleon said, "sorry we were late."

"But you made it here in the nick of time, regardless. Thank you again moy bratuha_my brother."

"Blja budu_I swear to God, Illya you really attract these nuts like moths to a flame don't you?" Napoleon said.

"Blja budu? Very good usage my friend, your Russian is improving," he smiled at his partner.

"Really? Thanks, I appreciate that compliment."

"However your French is still awful." Illya grinned.

Napoleon crinkled his nose at him, "I should have seen that coming... you're not going to be like this on the ride back to headquarters are you?"

"I will try to behave, but I make no promises."

Security retrieved Terry Tramell, bringing him to the infirmary and surgery to be treated for a broken jaw. While Max Schneider made arrangements for his psychiatric examination, thought he suspected the man was definitely schizophrenic. He remained behind to supervise as well as to launch an investigation into the shoddy security procedures at the facilities. Some heads were going to roll, if he had his way.

"Open channel D, "Napoleon said as he sat behind the steering wheel, driving he and Illya back to New York city.

"Mr. Solo, I am pleased to hear that your plan worked, though how you knew it would still amazes me...but then that's why your are my CEA, I suppose. Your intuitiveness is one of your greatest strengths."

"Sir, we need to have Terry Tramells apartment searched, as well as his work station in the lab to see if we can find anything on what he used on Mr. Kuryakin. Max says that if we can find his notes; then they'll be able to come up with a counter agent."

"Security is already on it...once this debacle is all settled, I think we will need to review our screening process for vetting our office personell. We don't want a repeat of this situation do we?"

"Not at all sir."

"Excellent work Mr. Solo, well done."

"Thank you sir. Out."

Illya lay in the back seat of Napoleon's , keeping his foot elevated while applying an ice-pack. He wouldn't need surgery, but was given a pair of crutches. He would have to wear a black lace-up boot to support the foot while breaks healed. He slept most of the way as the effects of all the drugs that had been intruduced into his system were finally taking their toll on him.

Once they arrived had head quarters he managed to make it up to medical without incident, as the pain numbiing effects of his formula had disappated.

The search of Terry Tramells' apartment yeilded a treasure trove of information for Research and Development and within days his notes hand been disseminanted and deciphered.

They already knew most of the ingredients in the brilliant cocktail of drugs that made up his formula, but it was the unidentiflable ones they needed; that problem was solved with his notes. But even identifiying these substances the formula did not work on their lab animals. It was when they discovered the catalyst that they finally succeed in replicating his results and that was a reaction with human phereomones. That was the reason why Kuryakin reacted badly to human touch.

His formula was diabolically brilliant, but exactly how this all seemed to work at triggering his pain receptors remained a mystery to be solved but at least it allowed them to develop a counter agent to administer to Kuryakin and cure him of his infirmity.

The lab staff threw themselves into this one with great relish and enthusiasm as it was not just a challlenge; but it was also a quest to solve the puzzle since the substance had been used against one of their own, Illya was after all a fellow scientist and co-worker.

Illya had recalled that it was Tramell who had 'accidentally' come in contact with him several time at headquarters and it was thought that his touch was reacting with Illya's body chemistry; taking his formula within the Russian's body up a notch as after both incidents his condition worsened.

They had also discovered that Tramell, disguised as an orderly had been giving Illya additional injections while at the asylum, changing it subltley until he added his last injection to affect the pherephones related to the sex drive.

A few days later when the counter agent had been refined, Illya beagan a series of injections that little by little reversed the affect of Tramell assault against him, that along with some hypnotic suggestions had him responding well to the treatment. Though at this point the Russian was beginning to fell like a human pin-cushion, dreading each injection, even though he knew they were giving his life back to him.

It was upon Illya's request that nothing be said to Elliott, firstly if in the event his treatments failed but then if success was achieved; then he wanted to wait to be declared pain free and cured before he went to her, planning to pull her into his arms and declare his love for her was as real as it had ever been and to tell her he was sorry for what he had done to her.

Dr. Dennison walked into the Russians room; Illya giving him a very unwelcoming, icy look as he did. The doctor was sporting a rather colorful black eye."

"What do you want," Illya said coldly," come to do another anaysis to tell me I have unresolved issues?"

"No, I've come to tell you that I feel like I have eggs on my face. I could not have been any more wrong about you and I'd like to apologize to you for the misdiagnosis. I hope you can understand that I was working with facts at face value and since no correlation could be found between the substance that Tramell gave you and your condition; I could only draw the next logical conclustion that your conditon was psychological and result of your most recent traumas.

Illya uncrossed his arms, looking the doctor directly in the eye. I understand that you were only trying to do your job and appreciate the apology, perhaps in the future when dealing with other section II agents you will temper your judgements. We are not foolish people and are well aware of the pressures of our job...perhaps you should look at a different scientific approach. There have been quite a few advances in the area of psychoanalysis...Dr. Mansur's methods seem to be more effective in sorting through the mind of a field operative?"

"I stand corrected and chastised Mr. Kuryakin, you handled this discussion rather calmly, unlike your partner," Dennison pointed at his shiner. " Napoleon is quite protective of you."

"That is what friends do Dr. Dennison." Illya answered while trying to hide a smile.

"Well this incident has opened my eyes and I've decided to tender my resignation with U.N.C.L.E. perhaps a return to academia might be the better direction for me. Thank you for your understanding Mr. Kuryakin...you'll be happy to know that Dr. Mansur will be taking over the department now. Good bye. Oh by the way, Terry Tramell was diagnosed as a classic schizophrenic, but he had developed an apparenty obsession with you due the the chemicals and pheremones he was working with. The folks at the asylum actually have high hopes for his recovery. But needless to say, he won't be returning to U.N.C.L.E."

Dennison walked out of the room, giving Napoleon Solo a wide berth as the agent entered he room with out a word of aknowledgement.

"What did he want?"

"To apologize and to tell me he is resigning his position, I think that you may have had a little something to do with that? the Russian smiled.

"So you ready to go home?" Napoleon said, ignoring his partner's innuendo.

"Does the sun not rise and set?" Illya said.

"I'll take that as a yes. You know Illya you really should call Elliott to give her a heads up."

"No, I want to surprise her."

"Oh you'll surprise her alright, but your strategy to piss her off to drive her away may fave worked too well."

"That is alright Napoleon, we will straighten that out. You did not say anything to her did you?"

"You asked me not to didn't you?"

"Yes, but I also know that you have a way of working around things when giving your word."

" Moi? I didn't, scouts honor, " Napoleon said, holding up his fingers in a boy-scout on, get dressed. I'll drive you home alright? Then I need to go straighten out my own mess with Bella."

"What mess?"

"Bella broke off our engagement after she caught Angelique planting a good one on me."

"Angelique? What was she skulking around for?"

"She wasn't, I had arranged a meeting with her to discuss Thrush's possible involvement in your dilemma. I also told Angelique that she and I being together was probably not going to happen any more."

"Do not tell me, you told her you were getting married?"

Napoleon nodded seriously.

Illya grinned. " And how did your Thrush vixen take that news?"

"She laughed."

"So she does not really believe you then, and that being the case I am sure you will not see the last of her in your bed?"

"Not unless I can help it. I did however call in a little favor that she owed me?"

"What, the information that Thrush was not the cause of my problem?

"No something more specific than that. I had her take care of Karl Voelker."

Illya stiffened at the mention of that name."He is dead then?"

"Very."

Illya said nothing as he seem to momentarily lose himself in his thoughts, but what those were, the kept to himself. He said nothing further as he changed into his usual black suit and turtleneck. Then he limped down the hall with his partner to the elevator, wearing only the boot for his injured foot and foregoing the use of the crutches.

Twenty minutes later they pulled up in front the brownstone in Washington Square. Illya hesitated before he got out of the car, staring at his house for a moment. For some reason he had uncharacteriscally lost track of time and could not recall how long it had been since he was home.

Though the last day he was there, was etched in his memory. It was the morning that his rolling in pain on the living room floor had frightened his son so terribly. The look in Demya's eyes was something he would never forget.

"Do you want me to wait?" Napoleon asked, calling back his partner's attention.

"No, I will be fine. Thank you, for everything Napoleon."

Illya took a deep breath as he closed the car door, then limped up past the gate then up the stairs into the vestibule, glancing back as he watched the silver convertible pull away into traffic.

He entered the alarm code into the keypad, then there was nothing. He was puzzled as the alarm did not disengage.


	13. Chapter 13

Napoleon pulled away into the light traffic, heading off on Thompson Street., it was beginning to rain and the reds blues green, yellow and hot pinks of the neon signs and lighted marquise' on Broadway all reflected on all the wet surfaces making everything seem like a bizarre LSD trip.

The wipers were dragging across the windshield with an annoying squeak that seemed to be in time with the song that was playing on the radio, as he continued onto Canal Street, then finally crossing over the Manhattan Bridge into Brooklyn; the trip to Bella's taking him all of fifteen minutes.

Then pulling up in front of her apartment; he took a deep breath before he stepped out into the rain; turning up his collar to shield him against it as he trotted to the front door of the building.

He stepped inside the vestibule, pausing for a second before he hit the buzzer as he tried to control the uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach.

This was going to be one of the most important conversations of his entire personal life, and he said a little prayer asking God to forgive and understand what was required of him.

"Who is it?" her voice came over the speaker.

"It's Napoleon, Bella." then he waited for what seemed an inordinate amount of time, thinking she was not going to let him inside but then at long last she came downstairs, unlocking the door.

"Thanks he smiled, I wasn't looking forward to going back out into the rain. " He glance back outside, seeing that it had now turned into a deluge.

"Well I guess you better come in then." she said rather coldly.

He followed her up the stairs not saying a word as one of the neighbors cracked open a door. Bella looked at her. "It's O.K. Mrs. Greenbaum, he's my fiancée."

For a moment that statement made his heart leap.

"Oh so this is him...quite a looker you got there Gabby, mazel tov!"

Bella opened her apartment door, letting Napoleon follow her inside.

"Coffee or a bit of Anisette?"

"Nothing please, thank you."

Bella poured herself a drink then sat on the sofa, Napoleon joining her at a respecable distance.

She swallowed the aperitif then finally spoke."O.K. here's your chance, so talk, and it better be good.

He paused, choosing his words carefully. "Bella, I understand why you were so upset and I don't blame you. It was my fault for not really preparing you for the things that could potentially happen because of my line of work. You know I'm a spy, and that I've killed people...but only when I've had little or no choice. But there are other things I have to do...what you saw was one of them."

"As an agent I am required to use any means necessary, any tool to complete my misson, and that includes lies, deception, sex and sometimes dealing death. I am expendable. I have to live with that knowledge every day. My life is very precarious, and my comings and goings are unpredictable. There are times you will be alone for weeks at a time...though the homecomings will be enjoyable, I'm sure."

"When you saw me with that woman, one who is an enemy agent; I was trying to find out if her people were involved in what had been done to Illya. I will be truthful, she and I have been lovers for many years but it was all part of a game, she give me intel, I give her, in reality we should have tried to kill each other but we didn't...we used each other to get what we needed and I don't mean sex. Sex was just a tool, a price to pay for what what information we needed at the time."

" But when you saw us together; I had just I told her that intimate part of our relationship was over. You know I am no stranger to women but there are very few women that I have ever cared for...you are the woman that I than care for more than I have in my entire life...I adore and love you with all my heart. No matter what I may have to do with women; it's you and only you who the one I love and want to spend the rest of my life with."

There will be things I won't tell you, not because I don't want to, it will be because I can't. There will be things that you just can't be privy to...what you saw in that restaurant was one of those things you should not have been involved in and I'm so sorry you had to see it. I just hope you can understand that?"

"I can't say it any plainer that. Bella, no matter what it is I have to do it's you that will always be in my heart and soul and will keep me wanting live and to come home. Maybe it'll make you feel a bit better in that I won't be in the field forever...I'm slated to be your Uncle Alex's replacement you know."

He finally smiled at her a bit. " Honey, I'll understand if you don't want to go on with the wedding, it's not going to be an easy life sometime. If we have to break it off; I just didn't want it to happen the way it did?"

"I must say you plead a good case Napoleon Solo, but 'm sorry... it was the talk that I had with Elliott that made up my mind."

He stood up. "I understand, thanks for giving me a chance to speak you my il mo Bella. Just remember that I still love you, please don't think badly of me? He headed to the door, the feeling in his stomach worse than ever.

"And just where do you think you're going?"

"I assumed that you had made up your mind to still say no?"

"You know better than to assume as an U.N.C.L.E. agent, Napoleon Solo...I had a good talk about you with Uncle Alex too."

"You told Waverly what happened?" Now he really had a pain in his gut.

"Future Continental Chief hmmm, well I needed to know what the future duties of my husband would be you know...it's not always going to be fun and game in the field for you," she smiled, " so if you'd like, you can start this over again...let's say a more normal way and not laying naked in bed together?"

Napoleon stood for a moment in shock.

"Come on mister, now's your chance." she snapped her finger jokingly, ' let's go, now or never...on that knee if you please. "

Napoleon grinned as he pulled the diamond ring from his pocket, then he knelt in front of her holding the marquise diamond ring our to of her.

"Josephina Maria Isabella Gabriella Graiziani, please do me the utmost honor of consenting to be my wife...for better or worse, in sickness and in health, til' death do us part. I promise to love you all the days of my life. Will you please marry me?"

"I will, for better or for worse Napoleon Solo." she smiled as he place the ring on her finger for the second time.

Napoleon pulled her into his arms, kissing her passionately. "I was really afraid I'd lost you Bella."

"Not a chance handsome." She said, taking his and and leading her into her bedroom, to make love.

After they were both tired and relaxed in each others arms Bella asked about Illya as Elliott had hinted of his condition.

"Good news there, he's fine and completely cured...it was someone in his lab who targeted him, but now there's another hurdle for him to overcome."

"What's that?" Bella said as she absentmindedly played with the hair on Napoleon's chest.

"Elliott...he apparently got pretty nasty with her, he didn't want to be a burden to his family and she's now reacting quire negatively. If they don't straighten things out, then I have a bad feeling the marriage is doomed."

"No way!" Bella said, those two people love each other too much."

"Yes, but they're both stubborn and proud people and _that _may just complicate things for them both."

Illya felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He was home but he couldn't get in. He rang the bell several times, then pounded the front door with his fist, wondering what was going on. Then he looked back outside, sorry that he had told Napoleon to not to wait as it was beginning to pour.

Then he heard a click as the bolt unlocked and the door slowly opened.

Elliott stood in the doorway; her body language and eyes clearly giving him a challenging stance and the _if looks could kill_l stare.

"May I come in, or is _that_ a problem?" He regretted his tone as soon as he said it, knowing it had been the wrong thing to say. He needed not to react to her apparent hostility.

"Suit yerself."

He closed the door behind him then reached to reset the alarm out of habit...then reminded himself it had been changed.

"Elliott?"

"What are ye doing here? I thought _ye_ didn't want to see me anymore?"

"Elliott, I am alright. I have been cured. I can come home to you now."

"Oh really? Ye think ye can dismiss me the way ye did, then expect me to welcome ye back with open arms? Ye are sadly mistaken if ye think I'll come running back to ye at the snap of yer fingers!"

"Anya...Annushka, I am sorry I hurt you but I did it to protect you and Demya. Dennison told me my condition was permanent, I could not bear to live with you that knowing I could never touch you again and our son again."

"That's right your life, your pain! What about mine, and yer son's, we had pain too! But no, only yours mattered!"

Illya's temper began to rise. "That is not true. I did it for you and Demya."

"Bull shite! Ye showed me yer true side Kuryakin!"

"Papa!" Demya called as he came down the stairs, running to his father.

Illya grinned from ear to ear as he knelt with outstretched arms, waiting to received his son's embrace, but then as the boy neared; he stopped dead in his tracks, looking very somber.

Illya realized he probably thought he was still sick. "It its all right Demayachka, papa is well again. It is safe to come to me. Come?"

Demya grinned, looking just like his father as he rushed into Illya's arms.

"Papa I missed you. Mama said you weren't coming home, I was afraid. But I knew you would come home. Please don't leave us again papa?"

Russian held him close, covering his son's face with kisses, as he whispered to him. " Eto budet horosho syeychas. Ne boytes' Demyachka vash papa doma_it will be alright now. Do not be afraid, your papa is home."

"We'll see about that..." she mumbled under her breath.

"I heard that. This is my home too may I remind you?"

"Maybe not for long."

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

"That's fer me ta know, and I just might let ye know soon enough."

"Elliott enough of this bickering. I am home, I am alright, please do not be angry with me any longer?

"Angry? Ye haven't heard the half of it.?"

She knelt down, pulling Demya from Illya into her arms, cradling him for a second. "Damien, go wash up for dinner please?

"Damien? What is with that...his name is Demya. He is Russian, and that is his name."

"He's American and he needs to fit in better. I'm going to call him by his name in English."

"He may have been born here, but he is Russian. I am full-blooded Russian you are half Russian...he is more Russian than anything and his name will stay the same!"

"Come Demya, let me help you wash up." he said taking his son by the hand.

She turned her back on him walking into the kitchen, bringing her attention to stirring a pot of Irish stew that was cooking on top of the stove.

A few minutes later he limped up behind her into the kitchen, trying to put his arms around her waist.

Elliott wriggled free. "No ye don't. Ye gave up that priviledge, when ye pushed me aside."

"Elliott please stop this, you are not being reasonable." he moaned.

She turned to face him, leaning her arms back on the stove. "Were ye being reasonable when ye broke my heart? Ye could have just talked to me if ye were really worried about me. But no ye used that cruel Russian mind of yours to torture me. Did ye stop to think of that?"

Illya sighed then lowered his head in frustration.

"So why are ye limping, what happened?"

"I broke some toes kicking the shit out of the man who did this to me."

For a second, Elliotts heart leapt. "Ye caught him then? It was for real and not in yer head?"

"Thanks to Napoleon's plan we did, and it yes it was for real...Elliott it was Terry Tramell from the lab. He apparetly had become obsessed with me and what he did was a matter of revenge against me for supposedly rebuffing his advances."

She sighed."Go sit at the table, ye might as well eat while ye are here."

"I am not hungry, I seemed to have lost my appetite."

"Sure and I'm the Queen of Sheba. Go sit at the table with Damien."

He flashed her an icy look, thinking this was the game she wanted to play...a battle of wills? He shook his head as he walked into the dining room, picking up Demya, putting him into his high chair.

"You are getting to be a big boy Demyachka, soon you will need a booster seat," he smiled."You hungry? Mama has a nice dinner for you."

"Damien. Mama says my name is Damien now."

Illya ground clenched his teeth. "that may be...you have many names do you not? Demya, Demmy, Demyachka so I suppose Damien can be another name. But your real name is and will always be Demya, Vy meya ponimaete_understand?" He winked at the boy.

"Da papa ya vas ponamayu_ yes papa I understand," he whispered.

"Horohshee, eto budet nash sekret_good, that will be our secret."

Illya took the dishes from the china closet, setting the table as Elliott brough out the serving dish, ladling the stew into their bowls in silence.

If it had not been for Demya's chatter, the dinner would have been eaten in complete silence. After dinner, the table was cleared he followed her back into the kitchen carrying the dirty dishes with him. The leftover stew was put into the fridge.

He tried putting his arms around again, "God, I missed you." he whispered.

She elbowed him this time, "Get off me!" she hissed. This time she let loose. "You feckin' expect you can just waltz back into my life after telling me to go away? Dismissing me and your son, telling me I was nothing to you? We were nothing. How dare you! We were your family and families stick together when there's trouble."

Those words rang so true to him as they were the same ones that Tillie had said to him.

"Do you think I really wanted to do it?" he snarled," I could not be the cause of pain to my family. I am sorry I lied to you, but I had to do it, I am sorry that my actions caused you pain. How many times must I tell you that...it was all a lie to protect you and Demya!"

She huffed at him. "Go away, go give yer son a bath and leave me be."

Illya took Demya upstairs, running a warm bath for the boy; relishing the simple pleasure of being able to scrub him clean and splash around the water playing 'pirates' with Demya and his toy boats.

He drained the tub then towel dried the boy, trying to comb his uncooperative hair, but like his; Demya's had a mind of it's own.

Then he carried him to his room, dressed the boy in his pajamas, putting him to his bed. There was no request for a story tonight. Demya asked his father for a song..."sing the Toys are Sleeping papa?"

Illya smiled, thinking it had been a long time since he had sung to his son, as he used to do when he was an infant. He began it quietly, rubbing Demya's back, lulling him to sleep.

"Sp'yat us'talye ig rushki_sleep tired toys. Knizhkie sp'yat _ books to sleep, ta-da-da-da- dam.

'Odeyala i po'dushiki zhdut re'byat_even fairy tales go to sleep.

Dazhe 'skazka spat' lo' zhitsja_blanket and pillows waiting you all.

Chtoby 'notchju nam prisnit'sya_ tonight we dream.

Ty ej pozhe'laj_ after having play Baju-bai, Baju-bai_husha-by, husha-by."

Demya was asleep before the song was finished as Illya pulled the blanket around his sleeping son; tucking him in as it was a chilly night, then went to the master bedroom to change.

What he found were his clothes and personal belongings stuffed into boxes on the floor and that set him off instantly. He stormed down the stairs, limping back into the kitchen where Elliott was putting away the last of the dishes.

"Why did you throw my things in boxes!"

"I honestly thought ye'd be using them in Buffalo, but ye can leave them here in the meantime until ye find another place to live?"

Illya slammed his fist against the table. "You are not kicking me out of my own home. I have a right to be here!"

"No...you gave up that right with you told me it was over and that ye didn't want me anymore."

Illya's head was swimming at this point. He could not believe that his manipulations would have worked so well on her, truly turning her against him to think that he no longer want her. Now he needed to convince her otherwise. But her temper and anger were running so hot; making that quite an undertaking.

Elliott walked to hall closet, pulling out a blanket and pillow and throwing them at him

"Ye can sleep on the sofa tonight because I am sleeping alone!" Then she turned without a word, walking up the stairs as Illya listened, dumbfounded when he heard the bedroom door close and lock.

He walked into the kitchen, pulling his bottle of Stolchinaya from the freezer, then reached to get a glass from the cabinet; then he stopped himself. "Yebat yego_fuck it!" he mumbled as he took a swig directly from the bottle.

He left the pillow and blanket on the floor where he's dropped it, going instead back to his office. He sat in has his cushioned chair, looking out the back window into the darkened garden as he continued to drink from the bottle. He had done it now, in trying to save Elliott from grief he had driven her to it and filled her with the very agony he wanted to avoid.

She was hurt, angrier than he as ever seen her and unwilling to listen to what he had to say. Illya was at a loss as to what to do to convince her of the truth. He downed more of the Stoli thinking that his marriage to Elliott might indeed be over and it was his own fault...he drove her to this.

He continued swigging from the bottle until he lowered his head to his arms, resting on the desk as the vodka drove him to a dreamless sleep.


	14. Chapter 14

Illya woke early the next morning before the rest of his family. He pulled a sheet of writing paper and an envelope from his desk, composing what felt like the worst letter he had to write in his entire life. It was a letter of surrender and that was something he very much did not want to do but now it seemed as though he had no choice. This was all his fault and supposed he deserved the hand being dealt him.

When he was finished, he sealed the envelope, then walked out to the dining room, leaving it on the table. Boris jumped up on he table greeting him with a miaou.

"Good bye old girl," he said to her sadly. illya turned glancing back, taking a last look at the only true home he had known since he was a child; then left the house, closing the door behind him for possibly the last time.

It was dark, dreary and still raining. He wore only his suit jacket and no overcoat as turned up the collar; stepping out to the curb to hail a taxi, looking unkept, unshaven and reeking of alcohol. A checkered cab pulled up within minutes.'

"Rough night...where to mista?" but the driver received no answer. "Hey it's your dime, but where you wanna go fella?"

"Sorry," Illya hesitated, " take me to...Central Park please."

"You wanna go to the park on a day like today."

Illya just shrugged.

"O.K. buddy suit yourself."

The cabbie dropped him off, looking at Illya like he was crazy as he paid the fare, then walked off into the pouring rain, disappearing into the park.

He wasn't sure why he had told the cabbie to drive there as he wandered along the Ramble.

The trees were void of leaves now, looking like lifeless skeletons as they existed in their dormancy, waiting for the snows of winter to arrive, but he supposed their look suited his mood. Illya found himself at the Bow Bridge, the place where it seemed like an eternity ago that he had first proposed to Elliott and she turned him down. Perhaps that was the first clue that he had missed that things with her would eventually go wrong. Her emotional outbursts about not being able to conceive another child...her jibes and jabs at him over the years? He discounted them as nothing, but perhaps they were not after all? There had to be something that fueled her anger against him, as she would not listen to reason?"

He asked himself if it could really be over? Did he hurt her that badly that she could not undertand his motives for his actions? Perhaps now, only time would tell.

He sneezed violently, having been oblivious to the rain, then decided that he had indeed been an idiot for wandering out in the rain. He walked back to Fifth Avenue, trying to hail another taxi to go to Napoleon's penthouse.

Napoleon had some difficulties with Bella having broken off their engagement and he hoped that had at least been straightened out. They would both be a fine miserable pair if it had not been resolved.

If his partner and Bella had reconciled; would he and Elliott be able to do the same, was it possible for Elliott to make peace with him? He stood outside of the park; his suit completely soaked. He had slept in it, making him look even more unkept, a few taxis passed him by he supposed for that reason, then finally one stopped to rescue him. He gave the driver Napoleon's address then ignored the man as he tried to engage him in coversation.

Illya arrived at Napoleon's building and was grateful that his partner was home, his clothes were sopping wet, leaving a puddle in the elevator as he stepped off on Napoleon's floor.

He pressed the buzzer just as his partner opened the door for him, the conciererge having called Napoleon to let him know that Mr. Kuryakin was coming up.

"Jesus, Illya you look like a drowned rat?"

"Thank you for noticing, nice to know your eyesight is still 20/20." he said as he walked inside.

"Whoa, just wait a minute," Napoleon said, ignoring the Russian's wisecrack," stand there while I get you a towel and a robe."

Napoleon appeared a minute later, helping Illya to dry himslelf. "give me your clothes before you catch one of your colds, and here put this on." he said handing over a thick floor length terry cloth robe.

Illya sat on the sofa continuing to dry his hair with the towel as Napoleon returned with a hot cup of tea, prepared just the way he knew his partner liked it.

"Thank you my friend," the Russian said quietly as he sipped the tea.

"So you going to tell me what's going on? I would have thought you'd have been home with Elliott? You two O.K."

"No, unfortunately we are not. I am afraid Elliott is taking what I told her very much to heart and truly believes I rejected her. She will not listen to me Napoleon. I do not know what to do."

He rested his head wearily in his hand as his partner sat beside him. "I apologize for intruding Napoleon, you have your own personal problems to be dealing with; I should not be bothering you with this, but I did not know where else to go."

"Illya everything is fine between Bella and I, the wedding is back on,and don't even thing for one minute that you're bothering me, you are my best friend, remember?" Napoleon said leaning in, placing a hand on his partner's shoulder.

"Whew...you've been drinking haven't you? Never mind don't answer that, I can smell that you have. Go take a shower. I'll leave a pair of sweats out for you, while I make us some breakfast. Then we'll talk, sound like a plan?'

Illya nodded wordlessly, then headed off to the bathroom.

He prepared their morning meal, but as they ate little was said. Solo knew that his partner was turning the facts over and over in his head just as he always had done, when finally Illya spoke.

"Napoleon, I am afraid my marriage is over. Elliott will not listen to reason, and there is nothing I can do to remedy that. I have no choice but to abide by her decision. I am worried about Demya, as she now seems to want to cut him off from all that is Russian...she is insisting on calling him Damien. I do not understand why she is thinking this way. I will not let her do it though; cut me off from my son that is. It will not happen, I promise you."

Napoleon could hear the anger begin to rise in Illya's voice and attempted to circumvent it before it got out of hand. He knew the best thing was for the Russian was to stay calm. He had to figure out a way to keep him from falling into one of his brooding, melancholy moods.

"Look, I think you need to lay down and get some decent sleep before you start making some decisions? Go into the guest room and get in bed now, and that's not a request tovarisch."

"Alright, thank you Napoleon" he agreed surprisingly without argument. Illya disappeared into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

Napoleon waited a few minutes, then picked up the telephone receiver; calling the Kuryakin household. The phone rang several times before it was finally answered.

"Hello?" the boy answered.

"Hi Demya, it's Uncle Napoleon, may I speak to your mother please?"

"Yes sir, mama says my name is Damien, but papa told me it's really Demya. Uncle Napoleon, do you know where my papa is, when I woke up he was gone, again? He told me he was home now, why did he leave?"

"Demya, your papa is here at my house, and I'm sure he'll be coming back home soon, now please I need to speak to your mother."

He heard the receiver hit the counter, then the boy's voice in the background calling for his mother...and Elliott's voice scolding him for answering the telephone.

"Good morning Napoleon."

"That's debatable. Aren't you missing someone from home...a certain Russian?"

"I hadn't noticed."

"Elliott, come on? He's here and he's devastated. You can't really be considering doing this to him. For Godssake after all he's been through?

"I'm pretty devastated too ye know?"

"Ellie, will you get it through that stubborn Irish head of yours that he did it to only protect the two of you? You know how much the man loves you, how could he want to put you through the life of misery that was staring him in the face...you know how selfless he is. After all the misery and cruelty he's experienced, nearly dying and still he was ready to suffer alone the rest of his life rather than making you care for an invalid. Maybe you need you to think about that before you make any decisions that you'll regret."

Elliott started to cry quietly as she listened to Napoleon.

"Please promise me that? Promise you'll think things over carefully and not emotionally?" he asked her with all the sincerity he could muster.

"Alright Napoleon, I promise. Thanks fer calling."

Napoleon stared at the receiver in his hand for a second before hanging it up, hoping that he had gotten through to her somehow.

The sitter that had been arranged through headquarters arrived as Elliott readied herself to leave for leave for a simple courier pickup outside the city, some where in White Plains, when she saw the envelope lying on the dining room table.

It was sealed with nothing written on it. She opened it and as soon as she saw the careful handwriting; she knew it was from Illya.

"_Elliott,_

"_For what it is worth, I am sorry to have hurt you by sending you away, but trust me by no means were you ever being dismissed. I called you nothing, but in truth your were and are everything to me. There has not been a moment that I have not thought of you...of holding you, kissing and making love to you. But at the time of spoke those terrible words to you; I believed it was never going to be._

_I could not bear having you out of my reach, never being able to touch you and our son again. I know what I did caused you pain but I believed you stubborn and strong enough to endure it._

_I saw no other way for me to convince you to leave; had I not done so you would have stayed by my side and that simply could not be. I was desperate to spare you what anguish I could over having to care for a man who could no longer be a husband to you and a father to our son. I could not be a burden to my family; my continued presence would have meant more terrible pain and sadness for all of us_.

_Please forgive me for doing what was necessary. There was no meanness behind it, only hope to spare you further suffering._

_Annushka, I never stopped loving you with all my heart and soul and only hope that someday you will forgive me?_

_If you cannot, then please at least permit me to see my son? Please do not turn him against me;with you gone from my life, he will be all that I have left. Do not try to take him away from me; this I will not permit."_

_"Vy vsegda budete moyei lyubimoy, Ya molyus' chtoby ya snova budet tvoya_you will always be my beloved. I pray that I will again be yours."_

Illuysha

Elliott dropped the letter on the table. "Oh my God, what have I done to him? How could I have been so fecking pig-headed?" she gasped.

"Ye oinseach_jerk," she called herself in Irish, "how could ye have been so blind?" Elliott realized that Napoleon was right. Illya was willing to spend his life alone in order to spare her a lifetime of suffering.

She picked up the telephone calling for a taxi, then when it arrived; she headed to Naploeon's place, arriving at his door a short while later.

"Is he still here?" she asked Napoleon as he opened his door to her.

"Yes, but he's not doing well. I've never seen him like this before. You're not going to say anything negative to him are you? That man is sitting in there like his heart has been ripped out. Promise me?"

"No, I've come to tell him I'm sorry. I just hope he'll forgive me for being so cruel to him...after all he's been through. I've been such an ass. Where is he?"

"In the study."

Illya had slept most of the day, finally emerging late in the afternoon and sitting on the sofa, just staring and not saying a word.

But Napoleon could feel the sadness exuding from his partner. He offered Illya something to eat, but the Russian passed on it. Not a good sign.

He'd hoped his call to Elliott would have brought her over but guessed that it wasn't going to happen. But now that she was here, he was worried about what she might say to him, in spite of her promise.

Elliott walked quietly into the study, seeing him on the black leather sofa, his head cradled in his hands as his elbows rested on his knees.

"Illya?" she whispered softly.

He looked up at her with a terrible sadness in his blue eyes."Did you read the letter?"

"Yes I did."

He sniffed. "I will move my things out tonight. May I see my son to explain things to him?" He spoke so quietly, as if all the life had been taken out of his voice.

"No..." she said walking towards him.

Illya's face turned red. "You will not keep me from my son! That will not happen!" he warned her, pointing his finger at her.

"No, Illuysha. Ye don't have ta move out...oh my darlin' man, please forgive me for not listening to ye. I was so busy being stubborn and angry that I wouldn't hear what ye were trying ta tell me?" Oh God, I'm such a feckin' hag!" She sat beside him on the sofa, running her fingers through his blond hair. "How could I have ever been so selfish as to do this to ye, after all ye have been through? Can ye forgive me?"

Illya reached out, pulling her to him and burying his head to her shoulder.

She could feel his body trembling as he cried quietly. He finally lifted his head, wiping the tears from his eyes. Then he lifted her into his lap, kissing her long and hard.

"I thought I would never get to do that again, " he whispered.

Napoleon stood at the door, clearing his throat. He pointed his thumb back at his bedroom door. "Be my guest," he grinned.

Illlya took his wife's hand, leading her into the bedroom. They made love to each other as though it was their very first time together, gently touching each other like new lovers.

Some time later they emerged from the room; the scent of food luring them both.

Napoleon had the dining room table set with candles and an exquisite dinner set out for them.

"Monsieur et Madam, dinner is served."

"What about ye? Elliott asked, seeing only two place settings.

"No worries kiddies, the place is yours for the evening as I have a dinner engagement...a long overdue one as a matter of fact; to discuss wedding plans with my fiancée." he smiled.

Elliott grabbed Napoleon around the neck hugging him tightly. Then whispered into his ear. "glad life has gotten better for ye too."

"As am I." he smiled.

"Napoleon," Illya called after him, " thank you my friend for everything."

"Don't worry," he joked, " I'll send you a bill. Good night."

They had all some how managed in one way or another to help each other to see past the sadness in their lives, each rekindling the inner spirit that lie dormant inside each of them.

Demya had done it for Napoleon, helping him make up his mind about fatherhood, Elliott helped Bella open her eyes to the life that lay before her, letting her make her decision to stay with Napoleon be made with a level head. And Napoleon gave hope back to the Kuryakins, helping their them to overcome their anger and find their love for each other again. The inner fire had returned to all of them thanks to the bonds of friendship.

Just a little over a month later, the fruits of their love blossomed, giving a reason, or rather reasons to celebrate, as both Elliott and Bella were pregnant.

FINIS


End file.
